Strange Place
by riversmommy1
Summary: What if Eddie left Bells in the woods and never came back? This story takes place 11 years later and focuses on a very different, mature Bella. It is also a Jacob and Bella story. Mature themes. Lots of sex, not entirely gratuitous.;
1. Chapter 1

_THE lively sparks that issue from those eyes,  
against the which there vaileth no defense,  
Have pierced my heart, and done it none offence,  
With quaking pleasure more than once or twice.  
Was never man could any thing devise,  
Sunbeams to turn with so great vehemence  
To daze man's sight, as by their bright presence  
Dazed am I; much like unto the guise  
Of one stricken with dint of lightning,  
Blind with the stroke, and cying here and there:  
So call I for help, I know not when nor where,  
The pain of my fall patiently bearing:_

_For straight after the blaze, as is no wonder,_

_Of deadly noise hear I the fearful thunder._

_Sir Thomas Wyatt_

**A Strange Place**

In this moment, I was the least sane I had ever been. That much I was sure of. My temples throbbed, and everything I saw in front of me was blurred and unreal, like an old movie that had been damaged with time.

The greater part of my intellectual mind told me it was a dream: he was not real. These were delusions, and nothing more. The love and passion I felt for him were misplaced emotions being wasted on a ghost, while a real man waited for me to come back from this regression.

The smaller voice in my mind, the quiet one, caused the problem. It was only a tiny voice that demanded my attention. Still, it promised me something I couldn't resist, making it impossible for me to do the sensible thing. All I knew was that if this was all false; a lie, I wanted it more than I wanted reality.

"I miss you, Bella. You belong with me." The voice was low, husky and absolutely perfect. It sounded like a prayer in my ears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Boston**

I prepared for my hour long run by stretching my calves out on the patio. Since our house was at the top of one of the steeper hills on little Nahant, I could see most of the town, plus a breathtaking three hundred and sixty degree view of the ocean from our back porch.

Nahant felt like an island, although technically speaking it was a natural tomblo. The land mass was just slightly more than one square mile and almost entirely residential. Now connected to the mainland by a causeway, it was absolutely beautiful, and offered me a short commute to the city of Boston.

At this hour, the sky was still dark, but a soft red glow was surfacing on the horizon and threatening to bring real daylight with it. I ran early because at three forty five in the morning, I would be utterly alone on the narrow roads of little Nahant. Each morning, I took the same three mile route around the town, enjoying the serenity the early hour ensured me. All I saw was that dim orange-pink light, all I heard was the lapping of small waves coming in off the Massachusetts Bay. It really was heaven.

The neighborhood I lived in was full of beautiful newer homes which had been built so close to one another that there was hardly room for parking in between them. My roommate Jillian and I frequently commiserated about the lack of privacy when all too often, one of us would catch a glimpse of a neighbor getting in or out of the shower from our kitchen window. This was both awkward and disconcerting. It made me feel claustrophobic; as if I were a hamster living in a cage on someone's bedroom dresser instead of a human being living inside a spacious, open-concept cottage.

Jill and I had been close friends since our sophomore year of college. God, it had been six years since then. She was a good friend at a time when I was adjusting from the move from Forks. Boston was about as different from Forks as any two places in America could be, and at the time I had been completely lost. Boston College was and is big, impersonal school; home to so many students, that a girl really never knows who to cling to.

We had a lot of fun partying and going to ball games during our school days; now Jill worked in the city, managing the billing department of some high visibility law firm. I was sure she made excellent money, although I never pried as to the specifics. The commute was as easy for her as it was for me, and since we were both single and laid back, we had no problems living in a shared space.

Jillian and I agreed on so much; for example, either of us would have traded the extra bedroom in my cottage for a wider driveway or some trees blocking our view of the neighboring homes in a heartbeat. It's something I should have thought of when I bought the property five years ago, but the ocean views had taken my breath away. Years later, the view from our bay window still typically made me forget about my distaste for crowded residential areas and fat naked neighbors too forgetful to pull their shades.

And I could forget about all of this in the early morning.

Running served multiple purposes with me. It was more than physical conditioning. In my mind, the daily run was like coffee. It was my morning burst of energy, the ritual beginning of my day. It was church; meditation, an opportunity or me to wander around inside my own mind without sitting on a yoga mat like one of those new-age goofballs.

I was free and unrestrained as I ran, but I was also careful. It was dark, and I had to take reasonable precaution. I scanned my surroundings with the critical eye of a well trained federal agent, because that's what I was. A law enforcement agent _and_ the daughter of a cop. I moved quickly and cautiously; taking in every shadow, every movement. Occasionally, I looked out at the water, or down at my running shoes as they hit the pavement over and over in that reassuring pattern, but I never forgot about my environment. I never stopped paying attention. That was habit at work.

To that end, I never took my ipod when I was running outside. In the gym, I'd have had the volume cranked with motivating fast-paced tunes blaring through my earphones, but I had been trained never to give up one of my senses when I was vulnerable. In an open environment a woman was always vulnerable, particularly if she was alone, as I was now. Despite my considerable physical stamina and strength, I disliked being unarmed, and I clearly could not run down the streets of Nahant with a Sig-Sauer holstered across my chest. The neighbors already thought I was strange, add a weapon to that, and they'd likely start talking.

Anyways, if running was like church, then showering afterward was like communion. I wasn't the highest maintenance woman I knew; Hell, I wasn't the highest maintenance woman in my own house, but I did like a long shower.

Truth be told, the bathroom was the least impressive room in the house, which was something I'd meant to have worked on for years now. It was small, and the shower was barely large enough for my five foot seven inch frame. Still, as I let the coconut scented conditioner sit in my mass of chocolate brown curls, I looked over the top of the tempered glass shower door and out the window at the Massachusetts Bay. Now, the sun was rising over the dark ocean. I had to get going, both to free up the bath for Jill, and to beat rush hour traffic on route one. I hated rushing in the morning. That was just another reason for my early wake-up call.

My room was at the east end of the house. It consisted of a large main-room which I used as a closet and sitting area, and an overhead loft, where I kept my poster bed. The entire house was dressed neutrally with whitewash walls and pale colored hardwood flooring. Jill and I had chosen not to paint or wallpaper any of the rooms, but we accented the home with colorful throw rugs and bold furniture choices.

All of my oversized oak dressers were in the main portion of my bedroom, alongside several shelves of books and a largely unused computer desk. Today, I would be taking the nine fifteen flight from Logan International Airport to Brussels, Belgium. I would be one of three plainclothes United States Marshalls on the flight, and the only female. That was par for the course when you were a female law enforcement officer; I rarely worked with another woman.

The flight would be over seven hours long, so I wanted to be comfortable. I chose a pair of loose fitting dark wash jeans and a purple tank top that hugged my toned body closely, but allowed me to move unrestricted. Later, I'd have to throw on some kind of sweatshirt or jacket to cover my holster, and to stave off the frigid air that always blasts through the cabin on international flights. For now, it was just jeans and a cotton shirt. Anyone watching me leave the house would have guessed I worked at the Gap.

Although I knew it wasn't a good idea, I always skipped breakfast. I'd usually grab a bottle of water on my way out of the house, and that's the only thing I'd have until they served the first on-board meal at noon. By six a.m., I was driving across the causeway toward Lynn and the city. The drive took forty five minutes on a bad day, thirty on a normal traffic day. Today seemed average, with no accidents and very little constructions. "Fucking miracle in Massachusetts" I thought aloud.

I must have swore thirty more times on the way to Logan. Since we were plainclothes agents, we parked in the public lots just like your average traveler. I walked into terminal B holding a boarding pass for Flight 226 to Brussels, and lugging an inconspicuous grey carry-on bag. Inside were common articles, a change of clothing, toiletries, and the kindle that Jill bought me for my birthday. Since I was traveling to Belgium, I had put about four hundred U.S. dollars worth of Euros in my wallet; I kept a drawer full of foreign currency in my home. No point in changing money all the time when I travelled abroad several times a week.

Besides the Euros, only a few of the things I carried were specific to this trip. A map of Brussels, two phone numbers scratched on the back of a cream colored business card, and an expensive silk scarf bearing a delicate blue and gold geometric floral print. One of the phone numbers on the card was for the 33rd Avenue Hotel, Brussels. The other was for a private residence in the west end.

After passing through security with my bag, I walked past a plethora of shops, restrooms, and down an out-of-the-way "dead end" hallway that very few travelers would come across, even by accident. An inconspicuous beige doorway at the end of the dimly lit hall was labeled with a standard black sign. "Employees only." To the right of the door a small plastic box required keycard access and I gained entry by raising my wallet to the box, which was able to read the magnet in my keycard right through the leather. A barely audible clicking noise let me know the card had been scanned, and I opened the door to gain access to another hallway. This one was over 100 feet long, well lit, and was lined with several doorways. Each door was accessible by keycard.

The 5th doorway on the right bore a large sign. An embossed seal on the front depicted a bald eagle hovering over a six pointed star. "Department of Justice, U.S. Marshalls, it declared in raised gold lettering."

Opening my wallet, I withdrew a second keycard; this one had to be swiped to read. As I held the card up in preparation for the swipe, the door swung open, nearly hitting me in the face. I jumped to the right to avoid being hit, and dropped my bag directly in the path of the man coming out. He stumbled over the carry-on, dropping a near-empty Styrofoam cup into the hall. For a moment, I watched as a few tablespoons of coffee ran onto the tile, and then looked up into the bright red face of Lieutenant John O'Reilly, my direct supervisor.

"Jesus fecking Christ Isabelle" He swore loudly, in his deep Irish brogue. He stumbled to the left of me and then spun around, barely composed. I froze momentarily, until he began shaking with a hearty laugh. Officer Durden joined him from inside.

"Bella's here." Sam Durden joked. More snickers erupted from inside the office.

"Sergeant Isabella Swann, flight 226?" Lieutenant O'Relilly spoke questioningly in his deep accent.

"Yessir."

"Find your sidearm and get out back before the others board, Sergeant."

"Sir."

"That's my girl," he said more softly, winking at me and moving for me to pass. After making my way safely through the door, I turned to see John limping fairly swiftly down the hall with Sam Durden trailing him by a few strides. Seconds later, the door shut itself automatically, and I instinctively headed for the locked closet where we kept firearms and ammunition.

Suiting up was simple. Holster, sidearm, jacket to conceal. Extra ammo and a few knives carried strategically so as to be invisible to civilian travelers. I didn't know who else would be on this flight, but I was fairly certain it was Officer Jimmy Anderson's rotation. He was a good officer; I trusted his judgment explicitly. He also had Lieutenant O'Reilly's respect, which meant a lot to me, since the Lieutenant and I had developed such a close working relationship over the past few years. John had promoted me a couple of times. He joked about my clumsiness, but he knew I was keenly observant, and a hell of a shot.

I boarded the plane from the rear entrance, directly off of the runway. Taking me seat moments before the civilian travelers were allowed to board, I scanned the plane for anything abnormal. Through the curtain in the section ahead I saw that Officer Anderson was already on board and stowing his carry-on in the overhead compartment. His eyes caught mine, but no words or looks were exchanged despite the vacant plane.

When the first few passengers boarded, they eyed me with questioning glances; the first few always wondered how I got on the plane before they did. It made little sense that I had managed to get by them at the gate, but civilians were rarely suspicious of my presence on their flight. Truth be told, I was probably the least identifiable as an officer out of all the officers at Logan. Few travelers would peg a thin, attractive young woman as a plainclothes officer. It made me a commodity in the eyes of my superiors. I was always used in situations where covertness was most critical, and I always came through. It had made me something of a star within the agency, though few of my male colleagues resented me for it.

Flying had become very routine and redundant over the course of time. Takeoffs, announcements, the beverage cart…before I knew it, we would be landing on the opposite side of the Atlantic. The only thing I disliked about flying as a Marshall was that I could never use a headset. I couldn't have my ears covered; the "no loss of a sense" thing. I couldn't count how many new release movies I'd watched sans-audio, and that pretty much ruined the movie if I ever planned to see it properly.

Most of my time onboard was spent trying to appear normal, while continually scanning the plane for any sign of danger. Unruly passengers, strange objects in the cabin, all of these situations needed to be monitored closely. The rule was simple; you only step in when you feel instinctively that interference has become necessary. No need to cause panic over nothing.

The flight to Brussels was long but uneventful. In other words, it was a perfect shift. It was after ten at night local time when we landed, and I could see that it was quite dark from the airplane window. After a brief walk through the odd-smelling terminal, I passed through security, and found my way to the offices of the Belgian State Security Service. I knew most of the officers working there. Only one was new. He looked very young, even to me. Gretchen, the BSS staff assistant informed me he was brand new to their location. She thought he was maybe twenty five or so.

"Cute," I muttered under my breath. Gretchen's mouth popped open. I instantly looked embarrassed, but she winked in response. Sometimes the female office workers seemed to be under the impression that female officers were all frigid workaholics that wanted to be men as opposed to wanting to _be_ with men.

"If I were half my age…" Gretchen trailed off and smiled. I let out a quiet giggle and walked toward the filing desk designated to foreign law enforcement agents. I filed a half a dozen sheets of basic paperwork and stashed my firearm. The assistant at the desk was also younger than me, and looked intimidated. I smiled broadly at him, but he looked away.

Standard procedure was to overnight in the foreign nation if the initial flight was over five hours. Per my assignment, I would stay the night in Belgium before returning to the U.S. via Dublin tomorrow afternoon. Walking outside into the damp dull night air, I began to rummage through my bag for my cell, and the business card I had packed before I left home that morning. Thumbing the card, I considered my options.

The 33rd Avenue Hotel was a swanky boutique hotel only thirty minutes from the airport. A call to the concierge would mean that within the hour, a uniformed driver would retrieve me from the airport, probably in a Mercedes, and take me to a plush room where I could eat candy and drink every nip of hard liquor in the mini bar before passing out on the still-made bed. I could shower in the morning, and then go back to sleep for a while underneath the crisp sheets to lose the hangover. In the afternoon, I would be driven back to Brussels International in the Hotel's car, retrieve my sidearm, gawk at the new, too-young-for-me Belgian officer in the airport's BSS office, and take my flight back to the U.S. frustrated.

Eeh, Not too bad.

I looked at the card again, and let my cell shift in my other hand. My pulse raced as I considered option two.

Dial the second number, the residential address. Maybe he'll answer. If not, just call the hotel.

I stopped and took a breath.

If he answers, I will have to wait for almost an hour for him to show up. When he arrives, it will be in an old, grey Volkswagen. He'll take me back to his place on the east side of Brussels, near the park. Naturally, staying overnight with one of the preeminent pastry chefs of Belgium will ensure a meal slightly better than those M&M's and nips of Dewar's I'd have had otherwise; and although his apartment is a bit cramped, it's clean. He'll ask about home, and I'll have to spend a few hours reminding him of America, of New York, and of American food and football. He'll relish being able to speak to me in English, without having to speak with the same articulation he uses with his staff at the restaurant. One thing will lead to another. There will be wine. I will not sleep. But in the morning, that new Belgian officer at BSS will have no effect whatsoever, and I'll have something to think about on my way home.

Belgian lovers are nothing special, but an American lover in Belgium isn't so bad, especially if he makes good dessert.

Jackson Damien. +32, 2-217-03-21

I squinted to read the card, and again as I punched the numbers into my phone. I should just start preprogramming my numbers, to save time. I fumbled to find a spot in my wallet for this card, and considered how programming phone numbers into my cell would make it possible for me to throw all those scraps of paper away, once and for all. Should I?

In the middle of my thought, a warm voice came through on the other end of the line.

"Bella?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Jackson**

I didn't recognize his car pulling up, because he had replaced the Volkswagon with a new white Mercedes sedan. He parked just past me in the "pickups only" lane, and stood up outside of his car door to wave me over.

I had changed in the airport washroom while I waited for him to arrive. My jeans remained, but I changed my underwear and replaced my casual purple tank with a navy colored silk blend camisole. I had applied a small amount of cherry colored lip gloss, and released my messy chocolate brown curls from the low ponytail I had been sporting on my flight. I looked okay, considering how long I'd been traveling. At any rate, I had a nearly perfect complexion, and wide brown eyes that were captivating without much enhancement. I knew that Jax would like what he saw when he pulled up. After years in a foreign country, he had a serious fixation with American girls in jeans.

The very last thing I put on before leaving the bathroom was the blue and gold silk scarf Jackson had gifted me when I visited him here the week before Christmas last year. I had called ahead that time, because of the season. He told me he was glad that I had, because the advance notice rendered him able to purchase a gift for me that once. As I adjusted the scarf, I tried to remember how many times we had seen each other during my time as an Air Marshall. I guessed about forty two. Every time was distinct, and I bet myself that if I sat and thought it over, I could remember details from every encounter.

It had all begun quite simply, on my sixth trip to Belgium. That evening, I had arrived around dinnertime, and was planning to stay at the 33rd Avenue Hotel, as always. When the hotel car pulled up to the front, I could see that the lobby was awash with activity. The bellhop explained that the hotel was hosting a pastry tasting that evening; that chefs from twelve of the city's most popular dining establishments were offering up their favorite selections to guests and to the public. Champagne and dessert would be complimentary for guests of the hotel.

Eager to keep me busy through the lengthy registration process, the bellhop and the desk clerk agreed that I should indulge myself before checking in. They mentioned that the tall man at table four was American, and suggested that I start there.

Faced with minibar snacks or classic room service options, I decided to wander around until I found something appealing. I found a lemon crème cake with cream cheese icing and toasted coconut. I found chocolate mousse. I found their creator, Jackson Damien at table four; a stunning America-born pastry chef who had been trained in Paris.

I didn't plan to introduce myself, preferring instead to savor the sugar and alcohol combination I had always loved so well at a small table away from the crowd. I assume Jackson noticed me initially because of my attire. Rather than being dressed well as so many of the Belgian women at the tasting were, I was wearing appallingly short khaki cargo shorts and a cream colored hooded cardigan layered over a chocolate brown camisole that matched my mass of curls. He approached me, and asked me if I was from the states. He seemed legitimately homesick, and gleefully anxious to share a drink with another American as the event wound down.

The conversation initially revolved around desserts; my favorite dipped cannoli from Modern Pastry in the North End of Boston, his favorite chocolate cake from some out-of-the-way bakery in upstate New York. He was undeniably handsome, with short, spiky blonde hair and hazel eyes. I had always viewed men who cooked as girlish, but Jackson was a tall and well toned man. He may not have been bulky, but he looked massive next to the shorter, slimmer European men at the Hotel.

As the hour grew later, we began to talk about our work histories; where we were from in the States. I lied out of necessity, telling my companion that I was a stewardess. Jackson told me about his first, short marriage to a beautiful but insane Parisian woman who he had left France to get away from. We laughed together as he recounted her antics, speaking her parts in a humorous French accent that was far from authentic. The laughter and the alcohol were intoxicating. Slightly tipsy, and incredibly attracted to my tall American friend, I allowed Jackson and our second bottle of Malbec up to my room. Our first night together could not have been more perfect.

Now, as I approached him and his white sedan, I took all of him in for maybe the forty third time. He was still insanely good looking to me, though anyone could have agreed with my simple assessment.

Today, he was wearing a light blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up casually to a place just under his elbows. The way the sleeves were cuffed revealed his muscular forearms, which were a subtle reminder of the thin but muscular frame his loose-fitting shirt hid. His legs were sheathed in loose, boot cut khaki pants that reminded me of the ones he had worn the second time we'd been together. He looked so fresh and wide awake, which was a miracle given the hour. It was now nearly midnight, local time.

I knew that part of the attraction was my particular knowledge of his body. I had been over it enough times to know it and love it well; the chemistry and intermittent absence made our encounters perpetually amazing.

He smiled at me warmly as I approached the waiting car, and then ducked into the driver's side of the sedan. I stood outside the car door for a few moments, considering what the next several hours would bring. I literally had to catch my breath before I could open the passenger door. Acting normal was going to be a priority here, and one not easily kept. Looking at Jax made me want to crawl out of my skin, but in a good way. I fluttered my eyes and drew another sharp, deep breath before reaching out for the handle.

I slid into the Mercedes as quickly and smoothly as I could, stuffing my carry-on underneath my legs. When I was done fumbling with the bag, I looked ahead. The vehicle was now in motion, so I focused on the road. I was keenly aware of his eyes on me, but I couldn't yet bring myself to look Jackson in the face. A part of me had always been just a little shy, plus I was fighting serious jitters.

"Miss me darling?" It was more of a statement than a question. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that he was still smiling.

I turned my face toward him reluctantly, keeping my eyes down.

"Maybe," I half-whispered.

He let out a quiet chuckle, and scanned my neck and chest. Reaching over, he twisted a dark brown curl, and then let his fingers travel down my neck to the patterned scarf I wore. "You still wear my gifts, hon."

I looked up at him. His hazel eyes were mischievous; taunting. I couldn't help but smile, and this seemed to please him quite a bit.

"I just like it. It matches a few of my favorite tops" I lied.

Honestly, I had never liked wearing things around my neck, and I had purchased this top deliberately to coordinate with the navy blue that dominated the pattern in the gleaming silk scarf. I didn't really know why if the fabrication was called for, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I wanted Jax to feel that a part of him remained with me while I was away; I would make him happy in any way I could. He was beyond sweet.

I watched out the window as the car turned off of the highway and into the maze of narrower city streets that would eventually lead us to his apartment. The streetlights seemed brighter, more welcoming to me here than they did at home. Perhaps it was my mood, my elation, but the lights were more like the ones on a Christmas tree; like candles on a cake rather than perfunctory street lamps. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Jackson set his right hand gently on my upper thigh.

I must have made some unconscious movement, because he let out another quiet chuckle. I looked at him again, and his eyes had become very intense. I stared into the hazel for a moment. Right now his eyes were more green than golden, and they were burning right through me. Gorgeous. The exchange changed my mood instantly; my nervous excitement giving way to outright desire.

"Whatcha' thinkin'?" I asked him the question with an air of innocence, but smiled at him wickedly. Sort of juvenile, but I couldn't help it. I thought I knew what was behind the glint in those pretty eyes, but I wanted to hear him say it. He set his lips in a hard line, declining to respond to my incredibly vague question. We continued to drive over cobblestone streets in the dim light of eclectic signage. I stared at him menacingly now, but if he noticed, he said nothing.

Cleary, more provocation was needed. After a moment's musing, I decided to slide my hand down his muscular inner thigh in retribution. I thought I felt a tiny quiver, but I acted as if it were all unnoticed; as if I hadn't felt his involuntary reaction to my nearness. The silence continued; and as we flew by shops, bars and parking lots, I decided I'd ask him the same stupid question again.

"Jax, Whatcha Thinkin?" This time, he turned to face me, taking his eyes off the road for just a split second. I flashed him a restrained smile this time, and used my free hand to adjust the strap of my camisole, which had been slowly creeping down my bare shoulder. I don't know what I expected him to do or say in response to my teasing, but what I didn't expect was for my companion to pull over to the side of the road in a maneuver so quick and aggressive that I momentarily felt the onset of real panic.

"Jesus Christ, Jax. This isn't Boston," I panted.

When I regained my composure, I turned toward him expecting an explanation, but he only stared. First, he turned his eyes toward my hand, which was still positioned on the inside of his leg. Then he took in the navy strap that was once again falling off my pale left shoulder, exposing a little more skin than would otherwise have been visible. He looked at me with an expression that could have been anger, but was more likely intense desire.

Seconds later, the full weight of the top half of his body was crushing my chest, his hands grasping frantically for my face and hair.

With a frenzied swiftness, Jax pushed his mouth urgently against the corner of my lips. He kept his soft mouth on mine for a moment, before pulling away to brush a section of my renegade curls out of his way.

"Baby, I missed you," he whispered.

He tangled his fingers into my chocolate tresses in an effort to keep my hair out of the way of our lips, then leaned back into me and kissed me straight on. I felt his tongue graze my lower lip, and it was a gentle sensation that contrasted with strong lock he had on my head. I parted my lips slightly, letting him push into my mouth. He slid his tongue in and out rhythmically, mimicking more intimate acts. It felt sensational. I groaned into his mouth, more than willing to play his game.

We fought for dominance as we kissed, licking and sometimes biting each other's lips with gentle and not-so-gentle nips. I had locked my arms around his waist after he had initially grabbed me, but had begun moving my hand back slowly toward his thigh. I wanted to feel his hard-on, even though I already knew how I'd find him. Suddenly, a strong hand moved off of my face and cuffed my wrist.

"We have to get home."

"Uuugh. No."

I must have looked dejected, because he leaned in to place another, softer kiss on my nose.

"I'm sorry I started this here. I meant to wait," he paused. "I missed you, baby. I'm dying to get you home."

The words lit me up. Knowing that Jackson really _hurt_ with desire for my body made me high, and as this gorgeous man pulled away from the curb, I was flush with excitement again, dying to hear him say everything that was running through his mind as he drove.

I knew Jax was a pretty sensitive guy. It was part of what made him such a fantastic lover. He needed to hear that I cared for him; that I thought of him when I was away from him, as he thought of me. Just as I needed to feel desired, he had to be cared for. Jax had made it known the second or third time we hooked up that he had developed some type of emotional attachment with every woman he'd ever slept with. It was completely adorable then and now.

He didn't think we were a couple, or expect a commitment; it was clearly something I couldn't give him. What he needed was an equally emotional lover, and he was so amazing, that I decided to give him what he needed that way. I gave him emotional every time we made love, staring into his eyes and whispering his name, even though it wasn't really me. I thought of it as role playing, and after a time, I had come to find it reasonably enjoyable. It wasn't hard to have fun with Jax.

But my American in Brussels needed to feel a connection outside of the bedroom too, and it was harder for me to feign that connection with him. It required intense concentration, something I lost rapidly when I was tired or distracted.

"I thought about you a lot since last time," he said to me, letting his gentle gaze drift in my direction.

"You too." It wasn't an outright lie, I did like the guy, and I cared whether or not he was happy. Still, my words were deliberate; a calculated effort to make him feel the way he needed to feel.

"You should call me sometime," he admonished, a slightly sour tone in his voice, "sometime when you aren't already here, I mean."

"Why?"

He met me with longing eyes, and I immediately regretted the question.

"I mean, I wouldn't want to bother you," I recovered, "I'm surprised that you aren't dating again as it is."

He looked at me with a perplexed expression, so I continued to try and talk my way out of the foolish, hurtful _why_.

"I mean, it's bad enough that I call while I'm here. What if I called you while you were out with someone?"

"I very rarely am." He was being completely honest.

"But you could be. You should be, really. You need someone. Someone who's always here. I mean, you could get married again… wouldn't you like that?"

"I guess I hadn't really given it a lot of thought."

I sighed disapprovingly. "You should. I mean, I'd like to see you happy. I'd miss you, but I'd be happy if I knew we couldn't do this anymore because you were spending time with someone…. good for you."

"You'd be happy?" The tone was even, but disbelieving.

This wasn't going well at all.

"Maybe not happy; but I'd feel okay about it" I said, correcting my last remark.

I glanced at him conspicuously for a half second, and he smiled weakly.

"Um, Thanks, I guess…for wanting that…something good for me."

"Sure," I sighed.

This was not remotely where I had wanted the conversation to go. I just wanted him to think I cared about him, for his own sake. He was so goddamned gentle, he deserved that much. I turned away from his side of the car and gazed out the window at nothing in particular. Sometimes, I wished men were as uncomplicated as society made them out to be.

I thought I recognized the next road we turned onto as his, and I was grateful for timing because I didn't think I could muster the energy to talk my way out of another stupid comment tonight. Truthfully, I was also concerned that the turn the conversation had taken would kill the superior mood that had preceded it. Earlier, Jax had clearly been anxious to get me into his bed, and I could remember vividly how good he was the last time we had spent the night together. As I shuffled out of the car and up the two flights of metal stairs that led to his door, I replayed our most recent kiss over and over in my mind. My body was exhausted, but my mind was full of him.

I wanted him now, dessert later.

"Bells…" I must have looked vacant. Jackson stood to the side of me, gesturing toward the now open door to his apartment.

"I'm sorry, I just spaced out."

He laughed good-naturedly. Being with him was easy, with the exception of the lovey-dovey crap. That I could have done without.

Dropping my bag next to the door, I walked toward what must have been a new couch, and In an instant, he was behind me with his arms around me. Brushing my hair to one side of my neck, he pressed his lips to my ear, my neck. I moaned lightly at the sensation, and he reacted immediately. Now, I could feel him hard against my back, and I was completely turned on.

"Let me make love to you, baby," he whispered into my ear. I turned to face him, and he kissed me deeply.

He never had to say it. There was nothing I wanted more in that moment. Pulling away from his kiss, I leaned into his chest, placing my cheek lightly against the blue cotton that covered him. I reached a hand up to grab the back of his head, and threading my fingers through his disheveled sandy blonde hair, I pulled his face down near my own.

In an unstable voice no louder than a whisper, I called out his name.

"Jackson."


	4. Chapter 4

**Edward**

The trip back to the US had been routine, uneventful. Not a bad thing considering my line of work. I had spent most of the flight daydreaming about Jackson; the way his cool hands felt running over my soft skin, the sexy way his arm muscles writhed as he held himself over me. His intense but soft kisses. And I didn't know if it was my imagination, but he always tasted sweet, as if the confections he worked on during the day had become part of his physical being.

I remembered the longing look in his eyes when he dropped me off at the airport. It was almost as if he had wanted to ask me to stay, but he knew better. It almost pained me to know that he didn't really mean that much to me. I mean, there was a sort of affection I suppose, but not much more. I truthfully wouldn't have been that sad if he got married or moved to a city I didn't travel to. It was more about the experience; the thrill to my senses, and the freedom. I liked having these moments in time, but I also liked being able to move on from them without being worried about emotions or defining relationships.

When I drove up to our cottage, I was exhausted beyond comprehension. I had no intention of unpacking my bag today, and since I had the next two days off, I could mess around with luggage and organization at another time.

Collapsing into bed right then was such a joyful experience, that I smiled to myself and wiggled gleefully underneath a crisp cotton sheet. It was still light outside, but that didn't matter to me. My job was so sporadic and the traveling and time changes were such a mind-fuck that daylight had become insignificant in terms of when I slept and when I got up.

The ceiling fan whirred above me with a gentle noise that was so familiar; I would have been less comfortable without it. As I laid there splayed out across the cotton, I thought about what I would do tomorrow after seeing my therapist, Dr. Randall, and supposed I could spend some time at the beach. Once my schedule had been mapped out, my thoughts turned again to Jackson. As I pictured his face vividly behind my closed eyes, I instinctively began to run my hands up and down my body. It was very rare that I should fall asleep before I pleasured myself to such memories; it was really a force of habit. But today I was drifting off against my will to feel good. I felt myself slipping, and I knew that I was close to sleep when my thoughts became jumbled and nonsensical; it was as if I were dreaming and seeing my surroundings at the same time. The thoughts became less and less meaningful; less and less discernable.

Soon I was walking through the forest; tall thick evergreens and dense foliage. The air was damp and cold.

This was home. This was Forks.

I began to breathe evenly and appreciate the sensation of being alone in a familiar and wonderful place. I felt myself moving swiftly through my surroundings, never stumbling, until I had arrived at a small clearing. There were ferns, and a large rock that was perfect for sitting. Flecks of Micah adorned the boulder in a random pattern. I wanted to go over and plop myself down Indian style on top of the rock, to soak up the silence and the peace of the woods.

Looking down, I realized that someone had been here recently; I could tell because the accumulation of pine needles and grass that naturally occurred on the forest floor had been disturbed. There were not footprints, but everything was sort of, scattered; like someone had been lying there, or rolling around.

Suddenly, it hit me.

I knew who had been there. This was the place where I had fallen, all alone after _he_ left me. This is where I had been found lying on the forest floor, nearly hypothermic and suicidally depressed. _Oh shit._

I saw no one. I felt nothing but emptiness. I wanted to leave so badly, but I felt stuck. When I exerted the effort to move my legs, I recognized that I was utterly stuck in that clearing.

My legs were made of cement, and the air in my lungs became sparse. My breathing changed; panic was setting in. That's when I heard the voice for the first time in so long. It was _his_ voice.

"You aren't good for me Bella."

I wanted to cry, to ask him to leave me, but the rest of me was dead now. I was utterly immobile. I couldn't cry, scream, run or reach my arms out. The empty feeling began to evaporate; in its place rose an intense, consuming pain. A part of me knew that the emotion, the hurt, really existed.

"You just don't belong in my world."

_Shut up! _I thought.

I looked for him; scanned the woods desperately for a face, a shadow. There was nothing but that perfect, awful voice.

"I don't want you to come," The voice sneered.

_Don't do this. Just leave me alone._

I screamed at him with my mind, but my lips were as immobile as the rest of my poor body.

_The first time was enough, Edward. Why do you have to come back to tell me over and over that I was not enough. _

_That I don't belong with you. _

_That you don't want me. _

Why didn't he want me?

I woke with a start, but didn't utter a noise. I was sweating badly; my sheets were so wet that I'd have to strip the bed.

"Jesus" I muttered.

It was dark now, but light from the hallway lit my room through a crack in the door. I rose cautiously, and ran my fingers through my snarled, damp hair. I immediately considered a trip to the couch; a glass of wine, and a few minutes of late night television, but my neurosis required me to remove the sheets first. Stumbling towards the doorway with the armful of damp white sheeting, I cursed Edward Cullen in my mind. I wondered why I was thinking of him again. How many months had it been since I dreamed of this man?

"Fuck Him."

Jill popped her head out from around the corner where the hallway met the open kitchen and living space.

"Did you say something?" she asked me with a quizzical look on her face?

I wasn't sure if she had heard me or not, so I decided to be honest, if not cryptic, for once.

"Just talking to myself. I had a dream about my ex."

She smiled, a sad and knowing smile.

"Asshole," she said, letting it drop. We laughed together, but it lacked authenticity on my end.

As I tossed the sheeting next to the door that led to the laundry closet, I looked over at Jill to make certain she wasn't still looking at me. My admission about the dream had made me instantaneously self-conscious. My roommate turned confidant knew almost everything about my past relationship with one Edward Cullen, and was aware of the pathetic demise and subsequent fallout of said relationship. Naturally, I had never told her about the part where Edward and his family were all animal-eating vampires that sparkled in direct sunlight; I didn't need her calling the psych ward at Mass General.

She had never met Edward, and since he had taken all of my pictures and mementos of him, I had never had anything to show her, to help her understand what it was that I had lost. Good friend that she was, she chose to simply understand that it still hurt me, and tried to make light by calling him foul names. I honestly appreciated her effort.

As it stood, my roomie was currently icing cupcakes, and seemed intent on her task. I was comforted knowing that she had probably already forgotten the hallway incident, and proceeded into the kitchen to locate a beverage. Since Jill was baking, I concluded that it couldn't be later than midnight. Surveying the room, I found the digital clock on the stove which confirmed for me that it was only 10:42 pm. It was still a decent hour in Forks, which meant I was free to make a call to a certain someone in that area. Thank fucking god.

After pouring myself a tall glass of Malbec, I grabbed my blackebby off the small glass table next to the front door. I crossed the living room cautiously, making certain that the drink I carried didn't spill on the camel colored area rug. No need to spend the evening working the carpets over with my steamer.

After positioning my glass down away from the edge of Jill's antique coffee table, I settled into our massive, overstuffed sofa. I positioned my body comfortably between several silk throw pillows and covered my lap with a pashmina throw that I had purchased for next to nothing in Bangalore not too long ago.

Once I was thoroughly entombed in colorful eastern fabrics, I reached out for my cell and began to scroll through the contacts, searching for the "J's". Just thinking about this call erased the pain that had been so clear and present while I dreamed about Edward Cullen. Here was a man every girl should be so lucky to have on her speed dial.

Jacob Black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Jacob**

As the phone rang, I conjured up the most perfect image of Jacob I had tucked away in my memory. My Jacob, sitting on the beach on a freezing cold fall day, wearing nothing but cutoffs; his golden brown skin damp with sweat. Warm. Solid.

His dark eyes had been focused on the horizon as he talked to me, his cropped black hair gleaming despite the absence of sunlight. I remember the way he had looked that day, because it was the same day I realized that he had saved me from going crazy over the loss of Edward. Jacob had been my savior. He was and is the only person I really trust not to judge me. He was really too amazing. Too good.

The ringing broke, and a gentle, masculine voice greeted me warmly.

"Bells?"

"Jake! How have you been?"

"Bella bear! I'm so glad it's you." He seemed genuine, and yet there was a note of sadness. I had to know if my Jacob was hurting.

"What's going on with you mister? I haven't heard from you in forever, and you seem kind of…" I trailed off. How did he sound? I didn't know if it was sad, but it was… off.

"Nothing really." He breathed out heavily.

"Well, I mean, I've just been thinking about some things, you know? Making some changes." He still sounded dejected. I pressed him.

"Tell me, Jake."

Evidently, my Jacob had been dating some girl from the reservation, and it didn't work out.

"Not that it was serious…" he had made certain to emphasize that part, but I could tell he was disappointed. He was frustrated with work, and with his father now remarried and didn't need him, he sort of felt alone.

"What about the pack?" I asked.

"They are here, all except for Embry. He went to college in Oregon, and he won't be back until summer, if ever. Who knows? But really, the pack is like….well, they're around me because they have to be… and I have to be around them. I didn't choose them. I don't even like some of them. I just feel stuck right now. Like there's nothing for me."

He sounded…depressed. This was Jacob Black; eternally warm, smiling, sparkly Jacob. All of a sudden, I felt worse than I had before I called. Knowing Jake was unhappy was worse than having a dream about Edward. I had to do something.

I knew it was crazy to ask Jacob to move out here; he had a strong attachment to La Push, and probably wouldn't want to leave Billy to live on the opposite cost, even if Billy had a new bride to care for him now. Maybe if I offered him lodging here on a semi-permanent basis…

"Jake, why don't you just +come here for a while? If you don't like Boston, you could always go back."

I heard him breathe out heavily into the phone.

"Bells, I wouldn't know where to live out there, I mean, I don't know…."

I saw what he was thinking, that I wanted him near me, but not with me. I cut him off quickly.

"No, Jake, I mean here, with Jill and I. You can live with us, and find a job whenever. I don't care. I want you to be happy."

"I don't want to be a leech….no pun intended." He chuckled deeply.

I winced and sucked air. He must have heard, or perhaps just suspected that the little joke had set me off.

"Sorry, Bells. Not funny." He corrected himself almost immediately. I could almost see him face-palming over the phone. It wasn't a huge deal, and it _had_ been eleven years. He shouldn't have to walk on eggshells, and I shouldn't be such a lunatic over an old breakup or a dream.

"It actually was kind of funny, Jake" I lied, and laughed a little to lighten the mood, happy that my proposition had brightened his spirits. I wondered what was going through his mind; whether his past romantic feelings for me were making him leary of the idea. I wanted to ask, but I didn't have to. Leave it to Jake to say whatever should be left unsaid.

"Bella, you know I'd like to. And I know you wouldn't mind if it took me a while to get settled and, you know, pitch in financially and stuff, but…." There was a pause. A long one.

Here it comes.

"I just don't want you to feel awkward…I mean, you're twenty eight, and I'm sure you _date_, right?" He didn't stop for the answer.

" …And if you brought someone home… I mean, I'm not going to lie, it would be… hard." Jacob was breathing a little heavily, and I worried that the thought of me having sex with other men might actually make him phase, but he remained composed enough to go on.

The next part came out so quickly that all of the words ran into each other.

"Bells, I know I'm not supposed to be feeling all soft about you anymore, and that we're friends, and that I'm a grown man and not a little boy, but it would be hard for me to see you with other people still."

I grimaced. He breathed deeply.

I tried to think of what I could say in response to my best friend's admission. It couldn't be easy for a twenty six year old man to pour out his hear like that, particularly given the subject matter. I decided to try honesty.

"Jake, I don't ever bring anyone home." I kind of hoped it would be enough.

It wasn't.

"You know it would be just as bad if you went out with someone and didn't come home…only then I'd be worried for your safety. There are a lot of kooks out there." He sounded like my old man.

_Okay Charlie…I have my pepper spray._

Jesus, would I need to be a little more specific about my mating habits? I absolutely hated talking about things like this. Thank God Jill had gone out onto the deck. At least she wouldn't bear witness to what I was about to say.

"Jake, I kind of….don't date. I don't go out with men, don't stay over anyone's house, and nobody ever comes here with me either." I breathed in quickly and settled myself further into the plush couch.

"I have never slept with anyone in this city, or in this state, and a man has never stayed at my house… ever. Okay?" Even though he hadn't asked me to reveal so much, I felt vaguely annoyed with him for forcing me to speak of such things.

"Huh?" Jacob seemed surprised, and curious.

In a split second, I recognized that he probably took my statement to mean that I hadn't ever had sex outside of Forks. Obviously he didn't realize that I had had boyfriends in other countries.

Well, nobody really knew that. I kept my intimate life well guarded, and there was no way I was going to tell Jacob something that would be so hurtful. He probably thought too highly of my character to consider it anyway.

What an awful human being I was. I couldn't believe I was doing this, that I was letting him think this; if Jacob knew that I had never had sex here in Massachusetts, and if he hadn't considered the possibility that I had slept with men during my layovers in Europe and Asia, then he must have concluded that I had only been sexually active in Forks.

And of course, Jake knew with absolute certainty that the only person I had slept with in Forks was…

Jacob.

Oh my god.

"Uh, Jakey? Do I really need to go into this? I mean….shouldn't you be happy with all of this?"

There was another long pause.

"Oh…My….Godddd bells." He cracked up. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart-attack" I muttered. "Glad you're so amused."

"I cannot believe you haven't had sex since last time you came to Charlie's for Christmas!"

He was laughing hysterically.

What in the hell was I doing? I ask him to move across the country to be with me so he'll be happy. He admits that he still cares for me romantically; and now I am telling him that he is the only man I've ever had sex with _in my whole life._ Which is a complete lie.

I. Suck. So. Bad. Change the subject.

"Jacob…ugh, whatever. Don't fuck with me. Do you want to come or not? Really, the door is always open. I don't want you all depressed and lonely in Forks."

"I seriously will give it some thought" he told me genuinely.

"Anyway, I can see why you might want me for company" he joked, but he was likely half-serious. I knew it was something that would probably land in the 'pro' category on the mental 'pro and con' list he'd make later on.

"Ha ha. Well, I'm headed to bed. Call me tomorrow?"

"You betcha Bells…."

"Love you Jake," I tried to make it sound innocent.

"Love you."

An hour later, I was perched on the edge of the couch, with a cupcake in one hand and the glass of Malbec in the other. My thoughts were primarily of Jacob. I felt insanely guilty for misleading him, but during our discussion, I hadn't conceived of any other reasonable things to say.

Jacob and I had probably had sex a dozen times between the time that Edward left and my High School graduation. Every time I went home for the holidays or for any other reason, I would always end up in his bed, and I was never sorry about it.

Honestly, Jake was amazing. When we were together, it was always clear that he was balancing his animal instinct with a real tenderness. He was warm, passionate, and he always wanted me so badly. He'd tell me that he thought of me every day that I wasn't with him, and I really believed him. It made me feel incredibly powerful to know that I had so much control over this supernaturally strong man.

Unfortunately, there was a serious complication. Jacob _loved_ me. He didn't even have to say it anymore, I just knew. When we were together, he was _making love_ to me, pouring himself into the experience with everything he had. I was just there, feeling amazing because he was so goddamned good, and because all that love he projected felt…nice.

But _I_ couldn't make love back to him. The most I could do was to give him my body… I could fuck Jake and Let him make love to me.

God, I was so awful.

Afterward, I'd always felt like I had used him. I had allowed him to bear himself emotionally during our intimacy, and I had never reciprocated. I wondered if he had noticed. He probably had, and was decent enough not to give me shit over it.

I had to be firm. If Jacob came here, we could not be together in any sense of the word. I couldn't use him like that anymore without hurting him immensely. In a way, I had been lying to him with my body all this time. It wasn't fair to him.

I further resolved that Jacob could never, ever know about my other encounters.

In a way, it seemed like telling him the truth about the others could be beneficial; after all, the worst part about my having slept with him over the years was that I had let him think it was special to me. Maybe my honesty would put our past into perspective… _he_ was special to me, but sex was never really special to me, even if it was with him.

Ya, that would help. Maybe I could also tear his heart right out of his chest and stomp it into the ground.

No, Jacob would never, ever, find out about the others.

I stopped for a moment to consider how many men I had slept with over my last five and a half years as an Air Marshall. After about two minutes of thinking, I came up with a number.

Forty two, not counting Jacob. Sixteen of them I still saw, regularly.

There was Jackson in Brussels, Alexi in the Ukraine, Robin from Bangalore, India and Sami from Cairo, Egypt. I also had lovers in Ireland, France, Finland, Germany, two in Russia (they lived in different cities), Hong Kong, Monaco, Spain, Portugal and two more in Great Brittan. I had been with five men in the past thirty days. This was my secret life, the reason why I carried a wallet full of international business cards with secret telephone exchanges scrawled on the back.

Sex had never been anything more than escapism, a cure for loneliness and a way to avoid dreaming of the hard past. Even my sexual relationship with Jacob was meaningless, a string of physical encounters that had occurred because of our proximity; having nothing to do with how much I cared for him. But now I was really lying to my closest friend, and it was making me feel physically sick.

Maybe Dr. Randall was right.

No.


	6. Chapter 6

**Bella**

I was literally crawling into bed when she called. I had turned off the ringer; it was the sound of the hard plastic phone vibrating off of my bedside table had alerted me to the call. When I read her name on the display, my heart jumped. It had been 5 weeks and 3 days since we last talked. God, I was such an asshole for being this obsessed with a friend.

"Bells?"

"Jake! How have you been?"

Her voice was placid, and lovely as ever. I was so glad to hear her voice that I didn't even think about why she was calling…there had to be a reason, right? I couldn't even think that clearly, my mind had automatically shot me back through fifteen years of memories; memories that would certainly color the conversation.

"Bella bear! I'm so glad it's you."

"What's going on with you mister? I haven't heard from you in forever, and you seem kind of…" She sort of trailed off, and I wondered how I had just sounded to her. I tried never to seem sad or angry with her, mostly because she was so inclined to absorb anything I was giving off.

"Nothing really." It wasn't going to fly with Bella, and I knew it.

"Well, I mean, I've just been thinking about some things, you know? Making some changes." In a way it was very true. I was in a mental quandary, lately. Billy had gotten remarried seven months ago, and since Susan had moved into the cabin, we were really cramped for space.

I liked her well enough, but her presence made me feel kind of unnecessary. I had always cooked and cleaned for dad, and now I didn't have to.

Since I had that much less to do at home, I had thrown myself into work at J&J Mechanics in Port Angeles, putting in fifty or sixty hours a week. I had been getting tons of work done, and the shop was making a lot more money for my efforts, but my boss was really getting on my nerves over some petty shit.

At any rate, my personal annoyances were minor, nothing I'd want to bore Bella with.

Except that she asked, and I could never deny her anything.

I told her about work; about Billy and Susan, about this girl Andrea that I had dated for a whopping seven months. The relationship had never progressed because Andrea didn't measure up to the standard that all women must be held against. She was pretty, funny, and great in bed, but she wasn't my Bells. That's what it always boiled down to with me; although it's not something I'd tell Ms. Swann outright. When Bella asked me why I had broken things off, I just made up some excuse about her not having time for 'us.'

She asked me about the pack, too. It was truly the last thing I wanted to talk about. The whole thing had me down. I wanted to stop phasing, but Sam had said it wasn't time. I was so goddamn tired of the Res, and I was tired of having 9 other people in my head.

Leah was the worst. I swear to god that girl existed to fuck with me. She spent all her time berating me for thinking about Bella, or thinking about some inane bullshit like what she planned to wear out on Friday night, or how her ass looked in a particular pair of jeans.

I was lost in this line of thought when Bella said something that literally shocked the hell out of me.

"Jake, why don't you come here for a while?"

_What?_

"If you don't like Boston, you could always go back."

I could not fucking believe it.

My Bella wanted me near her. She wanted to have me around. My immediate reaction was to say that I'd be on a plane to Boston the next day, but I had to think things over. Where would I live? Did she want me at her place? I hadn't been to Boston.

"Bells, I wouldn't know where to live out there, I mean, I don't know…." I was so excited and nervous at the idea of living under the same roof as Bella Swann, that I couldn't even think straight.

"No, Jake, I mean here, with Jill and I. You can live with us, and find a job whenever. I don't care. I want you to be happy."

"I don't want to be a leech….no pun intended." I laughed.

_Oh Jesus. Not cool. She's probably still weird about Cullen._

"Sorry, Bells. Not funny."

I felt like such a jerk. I really hoped she was over all that, but something told me that it still ate at her. If nothing else, the way he had left her, the things he had said had made her feel worthless. That jackass had crushed the self esteem of the world's most perfect woman. My girl.

"It actually was kind of funny, Jake" She said, giggling. She was such a bad liar. It had bothered her, damn it.

And now I had to address the question of going to live with her. Was this a legit offer? She seemed completely serious. I had so many things to think about. First of all, I'd have to ask Sam whether I could leave and stop Phasing. But that was the easy part.

Bella was almost twenty nine years old now, and still beautiful. If anything, she was way hotter than she had been in high school. She dressed herself a little more carefully now, and had filled out in the right places. Lately, she looked more fit and toned than wiry thin, and clearly she had been getting a bit more sun.

There was a time that I had adored my girl's clumsiness; the tripping, the face plants. She had lost so much of her former klutz, and wasn't nearly as shy as she had been. She had really gotten to be more graceful and confident. I was crazy about her, and I couldn't imagine what it would be like living with the woman you love, as friends.

"Bella, you know I'd like to. And I know you wouldn't mind if it took me a while to get settled and, you know, pitch in financially and stuff, but…."

_You know what would be worse than living with the woman you love, as friends? Living with her, and watching her go out with stupid men who didn't care about her or know her. Who would try to get in her pants… arrggghhhh…_

"I just don't want you to feel awkward…I mean, you're twenty eight, and I'm sure you _date_, right?"

_Please don't answer that…_

"…And if you brought someone home… I mean, I'm not going to lie, it would be… hard."

_Okay, just say what you're thinking. It's Bella. She won't be angry. Just say it and get it over with._

"Bells, I know I'm not supposed to be feeling all soft about you anymore, and that we're friends, and that I'm a grown man and not a little boy, but it would be hard for me to see you with other people still."

There. Now I'd spoken my piece. I braced myself for her response.

"Jake, I don't ever bring anyone home" she said in an even tone.

_There is no freaking way that she doesn't date_.

Well maybe that's not what she meant. Maybe she just doesn't let men come to her place. God, now I had to know. Maybe if I restructured the question to elicit a more revealing response….

"You know it would be just as bad if you went out with someone and didn't come home…only then I'd be worried for your safety. There are a lot of kooks out there."

I heard Bella's breath hitch, and there was a long pause on her end of the line. I think I almost crushed my blackberry while I waited for her to respond; the tension that flowed through me causing me to grip the phone just a bit too tightly.

"Jake, I kind of….don't date. I don't go out with men, don't stay over anyone's house, and nobody ever comes here with me either."

_Really?_

"I have never slept with anyone in this city, or in this state, and a man has never stayed at my house… ever. Okay?"

I was stupefied. What was she saying?

"Huh?"

It was all I could manage. She had been in Massachusetts for almost ten years, and she had never been on a date? She had never...

I had taken Bella's virginity a while after Edward left her. At a certain point in that horrible, ugly healing process, I knew my girl needed physical love to help get her over some hump. She had to get back to normalcy; she had developed a real aversion to all non-vampire affection, and it was _weird_.

I think I was the perfect solution for her, and lord knows she was perfect to me. Still, I was utterly aware of the distance she was placing between us when we were together.

The month Bella graduated from Boston College, she had come home for a month and a half to spend some time with Charlie. I swear that we must have had sex a hundred times in forty five days. We had always been so close; it made perfect sense that she should still feel comfortable coming to me for the physical intimacy she wasn't getting elsewhere.

She told me back then that there hadn't been anyone else. A part of me was shocked; I had assumed that at some point during her stay at college she would find a man who she'd love the way she had loved Edward, and that that man would be more than happy to take over my role as her lover. It never happened. And while I knew she didn't think she loved me the way I loved her, there was definitely some kind of love there when I had her.

Now she was telling me that nothing had changed since then. I was still… _it_ for her.

_Jesus_.

Then it occurred to me; this meant that the last time she got laid was last Christmas!

"Oh…My…Godddd bells."

I cracked up; Couldn't help it.

"Are you serious?" I couldn't stop laughing.

Yikes. Maybe Bells did need some company out there on the East Coast.

"As a heart-attack, glad you're so amused."

I just kept laughing, and marveling at the improbability of it all.

"Jacob, don't fuck with me. Do you want to come or not? Really, the door is always open. I don't want you all depressed and lonely in Forks."

"I seriously will give it some thought."

I really would.

"Anyway, I can see why you might want me for company."

It was a low blow, but come on.

"Ha ha. Well, I'm headed to bed. Call me tomorrow?"

"You betcha Bells…."

"Love you Jake."

_Love you so so so much…_

"Love you" I said, and she had no idea how seriously I still meant it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Dr. Randall**

"We have about forty five minutes today, okay Isabella?"

Dr. Randall sat disconcertingly upright in a stiff looking leather office chair. It made me grateful to be the one on the couch.

"That'll be good" I said.

_Obviously. You're not going to have me all day._

Therapy was new to me; this was my sixth session. I'd like to say that I was forced to be here, but it was actually a personal choice.

Dr. Susan Randall had presented me with a thick packet of paperwork prior to our first session. One of the questions was 'why are you seeking therapy.'

I didn't know, so I answered the question simply, 'I feel lonely.'

We had already spent six sessions talking about my past; about my family, about my job, and about my myriad of sexual relationships. Dr. Randall had determined by session four that my promiscuity was the result of my loneliness. That came as no shock. It was the other part, the "diagnosis" that had me dumbfounded.

We were going to talk about it again today. Doc was telling me that in order to combat the problem, we needed to isolate its origin. She began the session by offering some insight into the disorder she had marked me with.

"Sex addiction is rare in women, Bella. Can you guess why?"

"Maybe because we aren't as sexually charged as men are?" It was my best guess.

I was making an effort, here.

"It's a very common assumption, Isabella, but no. We don't think that's why. In fact, we believe that libido has little to do with gender. In general, libido has more to do with an individual's overall health and well being."

"Oh?" My interest was piqued.

"Further, we know that sex addiction has less to do with sex or libido than it does with the sufferer's attempt to mask some deficiency" She continued.

"Often it is a response to some trauma. Like drug users and abusers, sex abusers utilize sexual activity to numb themselves, and to get a release. We had discussed how sex feels to you, have we not?"

"Yes, well…I like it. It's feels good…to be sexual"

I shifted on the couch.

"Talk more about that, Bella" the Doctor urged.

"It feels good physically, and it makes me feel powerful to be wanted. Sex gives me a feeling of, control. And I don't have to think of anything else when I'm with a man."

"Okay, Good." Dr. Randall nodded. "You see, if you simply had a high libido, there would be normal ways of managing your sexual desire; masturbation or fantasy, for example. And you would probably have been in a normal, monogamous relationship at some point over the last ten years."

I almost chocked on a breath when she said that part out loud. Phrasing it that way, she made me seem like such a weirdo.

"But _you_ have been avoiding real relationships, and have instead been engaging in many non-committal relationships that are entirely based around sex. You even make certain that your encounters are with men you can keep at a distance, by keeping your encounters restricted to times you are staying in a foreign country."

I considered it all. What she was saying was largely true, not disputable. My lovers didn't even know where I lived, or how to reach me. But I had to question some part of this. I couldn't concede it all.

"Doctor, Is it so bad that I've not been in any serious relationships?"

"I see you phrasing this in a way that would make a lot of sense, if you had a typical sex life. I know women, Bella, who aren't focused on romance or marriage because of their careers. You have a challenging career, don't you?"

"I do, yes."

"Right. But most women who avoid marriage or cohabitation or family in furtherance of their education or careers…well, they don't have the kind of sex life that you have. You're very unique in that way."

"I guess I knew that."

The Doctor went on; probably not wanting me to dwell on the oddness of my particular situation. She had mentioned before that 'self loathing was worthless.'

"Bella, Have you ever wondered why it is that you seem so comfortable not ever being really intimate with someone? Why sex and love aren't connected for you?"

"They aren't connected."

_Are they?_

"Tell me about that Bella."

"Well, sex is a physical act. It feels good. I use it to feel good. I also love people, and I treat the people who I care about well."

_Do I treat the people I love well?_ I flinched.

"Who do you love, Bella? Besides your family." It was almost as if the Doctor had read my mind.

I didn't want to answer her, so I paused for a long moment. I squirmed like a child on the dark grey sofa.

"I love Jacob…"

_sigh._

"We're very good friends," I amended.

"Okay Bella. And how does what we've been talking about apply to your friendship?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, we've talked about Jacob before, and I'm aware that you've had a longstanding sexual relationship with Jacob. I also know that you do care about him very much. How does that play out? How does it work?

_Please stop asking these questions._

"How does he feel about your sexual relationship?"

That was the straw. Right there. And I started crying so hard, that I couldn't see my own lap as I hung my head.

Doctor Randall passed me a tissue. She kept quiet for a long time, and I knew that she would remain silent until I had something to say.

I thought about Jake. I thought about his perfect, dark eyes, and his deep brooding voice.

I thought about the conversation we had had last night; about his probable assumption that he had been my only partner, when in fact there had been dozens of men besides him. I thought about the way my stomach had misbehaved after I had allowed him to believe this lie.

It made me cry harder.

The Doctor handed me another tissue.

"Bella?"

"I can't right now."

"Okay, well, do you want to end the session?"

I knew there was still time on the clock, but I was just so upset. I nodded mournfully.

"Would you like to close with anything? Just to sum things up so that you aren't left without closure this week?"

There was a long pause, riddled with sniffles and small sobs.

I looked down at the ground for a moment, then up at Doctor Randall. The understanding in her eyes undid me, and I gasped dramatically.

"I am awful to Jacob!" I wailed like a child, and continued to cry buckets.

I felt ridiculous.

"I'm so sorry" I told the Doctor.

"No, Bella. You shouldn't feel sorry for crying. It's good to release your emotions this way."

"Okay." I sniffled for a few moments more before she spoke to me again, more softly than before. Her voice was now more motherly than matter-of-fact.

"Bella, we have not yet determined why this is going on, what the cause of this problem could be; but we have learned today that it's a problem, haven't we?"

I met her eyes again.

"Bella, sex is not bad. It's not evil. And being in a relationship isn't mandatory. But your sex life is meaningless. It has no value. Moreover, you are hurting people you care for, and you are hurting yourself."

_How?_

" You see now that you are hurting yourself, don't you?" She questioned.

I had not seen that. I had merely thought of Jake. I was angry with myself for the pain I had caused him, and for the pain I could cause him; but I could not think of any way I had suffered. I had been in receipt of all of Jacob's love and friendship, and had been enjoying myself quite a lot all the while.

"How am I hurting myself?" I asked her.

She smiled kindly.

"I'll let you think on that. That will be your assignment this week."

_Sweet, an assignment. _

"I'll give you a hint."

I nodded evenly. I was finally starting to feel less insane, and my tears were no longer blinding me to my surroundings.

"We had discussed why Female sex addicts so rare in the beginning of the session, and I told you that it had nothing to do with libido… We discovered that sex addicts use sex to escape some kind of pain, right?"

"Okay."

"Well, men frequently have a hole to fill, because they are often very out of touch with their emotions. They don't talk about things, and they don't stop to think about what they are thinking or feeling. When a problem arises that has no solution, they are angry that they can't make sense of things. Eventually, they find themselves in a bad place, and use sex as a release. They use it as drug to escape their own discomfort."

I nodded dramatically to let her know I was still following, and she continued.

"Women usually know where they're at emotionally. They talk about their problems, almost excessively. Women think about their emotions internally, too. When a problem arises that has no solution, women recognize that there doesn't need to be a solution. We just work through things in our heads, and then release our worries. Because they don't carry that unresolved emotional pain and anger, they are less likely to become addicts of any kind."

_Jesus._

"Am I like a man?"

Now I was worried.

"No," Doctor Randall chuckled, "Not generally speaking. When women are sex addicts, it's usually because of a past trauma. The pain they are holding on to is something they can't work through alone; something serious. Many female sex addicts are victims of rape, or incest. Others have had abortions that they never forgave themselves for."

"God…" I trailed off.

"I think there is something you haven't worked out, Bella. You're lost right now."

"I'm lost?"

I had no idea.

" And you don't know what you're missing... and that my dear, is what you need to figure out. By not knowing what you are missing, you are going without something that everyone should have."

I didn't respond.

"And that is how you are hurting yourself, Ms. Swann."


	8. Chapter 8

**Nahant**

It really was a perfect day for lying out. I had hoped to get a little color, but I still had to apply an SPF of ten if I wanted to avoid lobster-esque burns. God damn my skin tone.

Because it was a weekday, I assumed that Nahant Beach wouldn't be all that crowded. It was about a quarter mile from our house to the beach, which meant that I could easily walk down with my beach bag instead of driving down and trying to find a meter to park at. After dressing myself in a bandeau top bikini and a light cover-up, I located my bag and flip-flops, and headed down the road toward the bay.

A set of narrow stone steps led from the end of my road to the sand. When I got to the top of the stairway, I surveyed the waterfront to find a suitable place for my blanket. I liked to arrange things near the old coast guard station so I could use the bathroom if I needed to.

Clearly, I had been correct in thinking that there would be plenty of space today. Most of the beach goers were the same retirees that went to sunbathe daily. The woman on the blanket next to mine had a face like a leather handbag. The idea of turning into one of those wrinkled, brown senior citizens prompted me to apply extra sunscreen. It was probably just as well.

I sprawled myself out across the old white blanket so that the sun could hit me all over, and adjusted my ipod to a reasonable volume. Having found a comfortable, tan maximizing position, I attempted to relax.

I could not.

In fact, the moment that I closed my eyes, my mind drifted to the conversation I had had with Doctor Randall earlier in the day.

She had told me I was 'hurting myself'. Well, by and large, I just didn't care. I mean, it would be terrible if I was hurting Jacob; but as of right now, even that was under control. He didn't know about my escapades or problem or whatever it was, and he didn't need to. It was still my secret.

I reasoned further that our sexual encounters together had been one hundred percent consensual, and that it wasn't fair for anyone to blame me when he so willingly chose to take me to his bed absent any official relationship. He chose to have sex with me too, right?

The rational part of my brain began speaking in the soothing, even voice of Dr. Randall.

"_No Bella. He chose to have sex with a woman he thought her knew, because he wanted to love her."_

Fuck me.

"_He wanted to make her love him back. He loved her well, for the right reasons. His intentions were pure. What were your intentions?"_

Gratification? Power? Escape?

Dr. Randall was right, I am insane.

No not insane, sexually dysfunctional. I am fucked in the head.

I am dirty. I have been promiscuous and loathsome, and I have let my best friend make love to me repeatedly without letting him know where I've been.

I have been so dishonest. There is no excuse. No way to rationalize it. I am a bad friend.

_I cannot believe myself. _

What would he think if he knew? What would he say to me?

He'd be angry.

No… he'd be angry first, but then he'd be disappointed.

_God, that's worse. _

I knew he'd be calling soon; that we'd be discussing his possible move to the area. I had promised myself last night that if this worked out for him, I wouldn't lay a hand on him ever again. No more Jacob/Bella nookie.

_Great Job with that one Bella. Great idea inviting the poor guy to live with you when you have zero ability to keep your pants on._

I wracked my brain, but I didn't even know what I could say to him without having a full-on break down. I was on the verge of tears right now just thinking about his deep, soothing voice. Could I hold it together for a full conversation?

There was always the option to un-invite him, but I didn't want to. If I was going to get past this pervert-disease, I'd need him for support.

Good. That would give me all the more reason not to cross the line with him.

Once I had managed to put the raw feelings from today's counseling session aside, I began to feel human again. I consciously tried to erase the guilt and confusion that had taken root in my heart by focusing on the cool ocean breezes that lapped over my heated, sun soaked body.

I drank in the air, the music drifting through my ear-buds. I stuck my hands off the side of my blanket into the coarse sand, and felt the way it slid easily and quickly through my hands when I spread my fingers out. If there was heaven, it certainly felt like this.

Once my mind was clear of the angrier thoughts, I decided it would be healthy to make plans with Jill for the night. It felt like a margarita night, but maybe that was the beach talking.

Turning to my side, I rose from the blanket and went digging through my straw bag for my blackberry. The sun had messed with my eyes, and I couldn't focus them to see, so I relied primarily on my sense of touch to locate the device. Good thing I could use the keypad blind.

MARGARITAS 2NITE? XO-BELLA

I lied back down and rested the phone on my stomach so that I could feel its vibration when she responded to me.

It wasn't long.

FROZEN? ILL GET THE BOOZE IF YOU DO TACOS! 3 J

_Frozen? Oh hell yes._

FROZEN. SEE YOU AT 7. XO

Well _there_, Doctor R… that's a nice, normal night.

Satisfied with my plans, I set my phone back on top of my beach bag and lied back down, rotating to my stomach. The heat felt like a blanket over my bare back. I adjusted my head set and was scrolling through my playlist when the blackberry rang. In the first instant, I assumed it was Jillian calling to make certain that I remembered to pick up some guacamole, but the tone was distinctive. This was Jake's song. He had chosen it himself.

_In touch with the ground  
I'm on the hunt I'm after you  
Smell like I sound I'm lost in a crowd.  
And I'm hungry like the wolf_

I chuckled, and picked up singing.

"You know that I'm always hungry like a wolf, baby. What's for dinner?"

"Hey Jacob," I laughed. "It's always about food, huh?"

"Damn straight."

"And to answer your question, Jill and I will be having tacos and margaritas this evening."

_So take that, wolfie._

"Well that sounds fun and delicious. I'll be there in a month."

"Jacob, the tacos will be gone in a month."

He laughed heartily.

Apparently, it took me a few moments to realize what he was saying.

_He's coming!_

I shrieked loudly, causing the leather-faced woman nearby to glare momentarily in my direction. I shrugged at her, and returned to my conversation with Jacob, who just laughed at my stupid outburst.

"You happy, Bells?"

"Oh my god, yes. I am so happy."

"I figured that I would feel pretty much at home living near the beach still, and Billy seemed okay with it."

"And Sam?"

"He'll deal. He didn't favor the idea, but he won't command me to stay, either." He sounded… relieved.

"I can't wait to see you! Oh god, Jill will be so thrilled. She loves you."

"Bella, I've only met her once…" he seemed perplexed.

Come on, everyone loves Jacob Black. I decided I'd tell him as much.

"Jake, you know everyone loves you. You're awesome."

"And what else?"

"You are totally awesome, and kind of beautiful. Fucking beautiful, Jake."

He laughed so hard, it made me want to cry. I wanted him here now, and I wanted it all to be okay.

We had decided to go over the rest later, when I had collected myself and could focus on logistics. He had seemed genuinely happy at the prospect of this move, and I really wanted that for him. It could be a new leaf for both of us. I knew that I had a lot of work to do; that I had a long way to go in fixing the "sex problem." I would not let this affect Jacob. He was not to know.

As I trudged home from the beach, I couldn't help but think about our upcoming reunion. I imagined meeting him at the airport; showing him around the city. I imagined bringing him to Bricco in the North End, and shuddered at the thought of my werewolf's dining tab.

Oh shit. What about the wolf thing? There's no forest here…no space.

_Mental note: ask Jake about phasing. He'll have to stop before he comes. _

Thinking about Jacob as a wolf made me sort of warm and fuzzy, if I was being honest. It made me think about Forks; about the woods, about him running around the wood shirtless like a crazy person. It made me think of the camping trips we had taken on my college breaks, and what we did underneath the stars.

I started to feel a little warm at the thought. Jittery, almost. I had to block it out. This train of thought was not healthy, particularly when I was trying to avoid the possibility of any further 'romantic' encounters with this wonderful person whose happiness I genuinely cared about. Better to think of something or someone else.

Focus. Put him out of your head.

_Tacos._

Of course, tacos with Jill.

Walking onto the tiny front breezeway, I traded out my beach bag for the car keys, threw on an errant pair of denim shorts and headed to the grocery store.

Yes, this would be a normal night. Margaritas, Tacos; nachos with Velveeta and salsa, and fresh guacamole. Jill and I would watch something corny on Netflix, and talk about things that were of little consequence.

Hopefully I'd fall asleep drunk. It was the only way I'd be able to avoid thinking of Jacob _that way._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N; 1****st**** of all, I have failed to say this yet. Obviously, I don't own Twilight. It all belongs to Stephanie Meyer. **

**2****nd****, I am sorry it's been a couple of days, but here's your next chapter. I want my readers to know that a lot of this story is based in reality (some people and situations, not the whole plot); many of my non-twi characters are based on people I've known. **

**Oh, and I've only gotten 3 reviews. Ante up, folks!**

**Sameh Mohammad Abuti (Sami)**

The cabin was dark. Most of the passengers were sleeping while they had the opportunity; it was one way to waste a 15 hour flight. Since it was my job to remain awake and attentive, I decided to spend the flight reading. Having just finished _The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest_, I opened the photocopied packet of materials that Dr. Randall had given me during our fifth counseling session.

I hadn't even skimmed any of it before today, but I knew I had to do the right thing, for Jacob's sake.

"_There are no official diagnostic criteria for sexual addiction. Patrick Carnes, a proponent of the idea of sexual addiction, proposed using: _

_Recurrent failure (pattern) to resist impulses to engage in extreme acts of lewd sex._

_Frequently engaging in those behaviors to a greater extent or over a longer period of time than intended._

_Persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to stop, reduce, or control those behaviors._

_Inordinate amount of time spent in obtaining sex, being sexual, or recovering from sexual experience._

_Preoccupation with the behavior or preparatory activities._

_Frequently engaging in violent sexual behavior when expected to fulfill occupational, academic, domestic, or social obligations._

_Continuation of the behavior despite knowledge of having a persistent or recurrent social, academic, financial, psychological, or physical problem that is caused or exacerbated by the behavior._

_Need to increase the intensity, frequency, number, or risk of behaviors to achieve the desired effect, or diminished effect with continued behaviors at the same level of intensity, frequency, number, or risk._

_Giving up or limiting social, occupational, or recreational activities because of the behavior._

_Resorting to distress, anxiety, restlessness, or violence if unable to engage in the behavior at times relating to SRD (Sexual Rage Disorder)."_

Two things occurred to me just then. One was that the Doctor and I had never discussed how I would handle my little problem. We had merely _accepted_ that there was something amiss, and labeled it. Two was that one of my very favorite people lived in Cairo, where we would be landing in two hours and twenty minutes.

It seemed obvious to me that abstinence was the right course of action now. If sexual compulsivity was like drug addiction… and if drug addicts had to go cold turkey in order to get better, then so would I.

But what about heroin addicts who require methadone treatments? They wean themselves off of their addiction by using a replacement therapy. Maybe I could simply limit my activity until the Doctor had advised me of some official course of action. It seemed like the most livable solution, if not the most effective. Part of me knew this was ridiculous, that I was rationalizing my behavior in an effort to continue doing something I knew wasn't good for me.

_Whatev._

After a mundane landing at the massive Cairo international airport, I processed my paperwork and stashed my sidearm at the Egyptian Public Security Checkpoint. I was starving. Thankfully, Cairo International has a Kentucky Fried Chicken.

After eating a three piece with mashed potatoes and a side salad, I headed toward the duty free. The shop was full of tiny, child sized tee shirts; makeup, liquor and other pricey gifts.

One of the difficulties of traveling frequently was the matter of food consumption. You always got hungry when there was nothing around, and you had no idea where the restaurants and markets were located. Worse yet, as a traveler, you were always limited to "safe" foods; well cooked meats, rice, and produce that had not been washed in water. Ice was a no-no. This meant no iced coffees, fountain sodas, salad, apples, or food from street vendors.

I had never enjoyed going on the requisite "food hunt" when I inevitably got hungry; furthermore, I hated ethnic food, which complicated things quite a lot. As such, I now scanned the duty free for something I could pack away and eat later. I selected a large bar of Milka, a package of shortbread cookies and a liter of Southern Comfort.

No matter where I was, two things would always be available, safe and delicious… candy and alcohol.

After making my purchases, I sat on one of the benches in the central courtyard of terminal three and reorganized my carry-on. I fleetingly considered calling Le Meridian to make a overnight reservation, but quickly set the idea aside. Instead, I picked up my blackberry, and began dialing a number I knew by heart.

20-2-3377 7070

"sameh's phone."

"Sami, its Bella."

A deep voice chuckled warmly.

"Ahh, Bella. This is Sameh's good friend Ahmad. I'm afraid your Sami is in the shower, but I am certain that he would wish to speak with you. Will you hold on for just a moment, pretty lady?"

"Of course" I said in a small voice.

I held for maybe two or three minutes, tapping my foot anxiously against the stone tile of the terminal floor all the while. Finally, there was a rustling noise on the line as someone picked up on the other end.

"Hiii sexy" came the silken voice. It was literally one of my favorite sounds in the whole world.

"Sami."

"So sorry to have kept you waiting, Bella. I am so glad that Ahmad was here to pick up my phone for me. I would have been so sorry if you were not able to reach me. Would you have called again?"

He spoke elegantly, and always in a formal manner. I supposed that this was caused by the language barrier; Sami's English was very good, but he had been taught a formal version, entirely free of slang. It sounded almost princely. It befitted one of the most renowned financial analysts in Cairo.

"Isabella, please allow me to send my car for you. You will join me tonight in my home, will you not?"

"Of course, Sami," I said, trying to sound seductive and somewhat composed. Truthfully, I wanted to jump off the bench and do a cartwheel.

"I have to tell you," I advised, "I have been traveling for almost a full day. I'm a disaster."

He clucked at me, and said something that sounded like a teasing admonishment in Egyptian.

"My Bella, you have never looked less than perfect, dear."

I felt giddy

"Still, my sweet lady, I would like to make certain you are very comfortable. Please, allow me to extend some hospitality to that end." His voice was filled with pleasure at the idea of providing me with some type of comforting surprise, which would more than likely involve exorbitantly luxurious pampering. My Egyptian friend was very wealthy, and in the Middle East, the wealthy really knew how to do luxury.

"Oh Sami, there really isn't any need for…"

"Now Isabelle..." he sang, "Please allow me, as your dear friend to make you feel welcome here. My colleague Ahmad and I had planned to get out for a drink with one of our business partners just now. If it pleases you, I will just step out for a short time, and leave you here with some little necessities, I think."

I almost let out a giggle.

"That would be fantastic; and certainly, I would not want to interrupt any plans that you had for the evening."

"Oh, no no Ms. Isabella, you certainly must not think that you were troubling me. I would always be so much happier to have your company for the evening, rather than to work. I would stay home in an instant if you wished, but I prefer to leave you some time to rest and feel relaxed." His tone was playful, but sincere. Ever the gentleman.

"I can't wait to see you," I half-whispered.

"Truly, Bella. Now where may I tell my driver to meet with you?"

Twenty minutes later, a black Jaguar with tinted windows pulled up to the 'pick-up' zone outside of my terminal. A middle aged, golden skinned driver exited the car and nearly ran to the rear passenger side to open my door for me.

"Ms. Bella?"

"Yes sir."

He smiled at me warmly.

"I knew it was you. Mr. Abuti only told me to look for the loveliest light-haired woman at this terminal entrance." He winked playfully, and I had to laugh. Middle Eastern men were so sexual.

'Light-haired.' I laughed lightly as I entered the back of the vehicle. It had always been amusing to me how my chocolate colored locks were considered nearly blonde in this area of the world. My coloring made me a prize, a sort of a trophy acquisition for men like Sameh. I would have minded a little if he weren't such a peach.

As I settled into the leather seats in the back of the chauffeured vehicle, I realized that someone had placed a small, wrapped gift on the back driver's-side seat. A tiny envelope was tied to the package with a satin ribbon.

No doubt observing me through the rear-view mirror, the driver encouraged me.

"For you of course, Miss Isabella. You are such an honored and cherished guest of my employer." He grinned, and it made me wonder what he thought her knew.

Lifting the box from the seat, I carefully detached the envelope. It was no larger than a post-it, but was made from translucent white paper. Inside, a white note card read simply, "Beautiful, like my Bella."

Corny.

_Awesome._

I carefully untied the red satin ribbon, and laid it on the seat next to the card. The wrapping paper was embossed, and appeared to feature some black and white Egyptian-inspired hieroglyphic design. Having always enjoyed a unique scrap of paper, I had a mind to keep the wrapping.

I looked out the window for a moment, and drew in a breath. If bad food was the downside to near-constant foreign travel, this was the definitive upside. Looking out at the River Nile from the mid-section of the 6th of October Bridge, I could see the lighted reflection of modern Egypt shining in the famous waterway. I considered the history; the romance of that River, and it sent a chill through me.

With my eyes still on the water and the pictures of the shining towers playing across it, I moved my left hand to uncover the box I held between my knees. I felt something smooth, and something hard.

Looking down, I could see that the outer box contained a silk garment and yet another box. I wondered how my dear friend had procured such a gif on such short notice. Did he have a stock of opulent gifts for female guests?

I left the garment in the box, presuming the mass of silk was a robe or nightgown of some kind. No need to whip out intimate gifts in full view of Sami's driver.

Next, I tore into the wrapping that contained the smaller box. As I ripped the pattern away from the hard object within it, my eyes met with a distinctive red and gold jewelry presentation box that could only have come from, no…

Cartier.

_Well fuck me sideways. _

I couldn't lift the lid yet. Instead, I placed the half-wrapped gift box into my carry-on, and zipped it tightly. No telling how much my little necessity was worth.

When we arrived at Sameh's building, the driver ushered me out of the car and into the main lobby of the massive twenty seven story tower. I had learned a while ago that the first twenty five floors were mainly offices; that only the top two stories were luxury residences. An express elevator would send me flying to the top in under a minute. There, some other member of Sameh's staff would escort me into his apartment, and help me settle in.

Tonight appeared no different, until my new friend and assistant Bahti and I had arrived at the master suite. There, oil burning lanterns filled the room with a low, flickering light. I noticed that the gentle heat of the room was occasionally interrupted by a smooth breeze, and found the doors to the balcony open. The moonlight cast a subtle glow on the marble floors of the master bedroom, which contrasted with the dancing golden firelights.

In the bathroom, a tub had been filled for me. It was fragrant with crimson and white petals. I thought I smelled jasmine. Bahti pointed me toward the bath, and suggested that I use a bottle of fragrant oil when I was finished bathing, "to prevent the skin from rough feel." Before leaving the massive bathroom, my companion left me two large white towels, and a plush white bathrobe.

I slid into the bath gratefully, and my mind turned off. I thought of nothing for a long time.

"Bella."

A sumptuous voice called my name.

I opened my eyes to see that my insanely handsome companion had come home from his evening business engagement.

I smiled at him gleefully, and he seemed pleased at my excitement.

"Darling, I am so sorry to interrupt your bath. I had not wanted to, but I could not stay away any longer."

"I've been waiting for you, Sami…" And when I said it, I purred. I rose out of the water, letting my wet brown hair drip down my pale form.

"Beautiful." His eyes gleamed. He wanted to possess me, to own my body for one night. This man, who had everything. This golden, Egyptian god.

Some emotion shook me, then. Something deep within me came alive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Amsterdam**

After arriving in Egypt on Tuesday, I had approximately fourteen hours to 'rest' before I was slated to return to Cairo International. The flight I took next had brought me to Amsterdam, where I would stay for a full day. I needed the time to sleep and recover. Since I had no friends here, I would really be able to get some shut-eye.

I planned to stay at the Dylan, Amsterdam. A taxi picked me up from Amsterdam Airport Schiphol, Terminal G, and took me first to Pucinni Bomboni, possibly the best chocolate shop in the Netherlands. I planned to purchase extra chocolates for Jill. I never brought her anything.

After making my substantial purchase, I returned to the Taxi and we headed toward the Dylan. As we traveled over the cobblestone streets of old Amsterdam, I had a sudden desire to sightsee. Despite my constant travel, I rarely got to explore the surroundings of my host cities.

_I need a vacation_

Yes!

A vacation was precisely the thing. I don't think I had ever used a day of vacation in my five years as an air marshal. I had lost so many days of paid time off that I couldn't even count them. I thought that I was due a break, and there was no more perfect time. I could take two or three weeks right when Jacob arrived in Boston, and possibly arrange for us both to take a trip overseas. Perhaps a trip to Italy, or a cruise around the Greek Islands.

Maybe both. I had enough money saved, and flying cost me nothing.

I decided to make a call to Central Control in the U.S.

"Central, this is June speaking."

"June, this is Officer Isabella Swann, Badge number 427341. I am calling to arrange for vacation time."

"Certainly, Officer Swann. How much of your time?

"I'd like to take three weeks; I have at least three, don't I?"

"Yes, Isabella, you have five."

"Wonderful, and it's just Bella. I'll take the three, for now." Maybe we could go somewhere else at Christmas.

"And when would you like to take leave, officer?"

"Let's see, how about a month from now."

I dreamed of Sami.

_After he had arrived home from his business early in the evening, he joined me in his master suite._

"_Bella." _

_When he had said my name, I had almost come apart. Putting any semblance of modesty aside, I had lifted myself from the bath water so my lover could see me. His eyes shone._

"_Beautiful."_

_As Sami walked towards me, I could see the definition of his body through his thin cotton shirt. He stood tall and thick, with a defined musculature. His golden skin shone in the flickering lamp light, as he reached a large hand out to help me out of the elevated bath. _

_He smiled at me widely, expectantly._

_He was so beautiful. So sensual. His eyes were brown like mine, but deeper, and fringed with thick black lashes. He had shaved off most of his hair, but what was left gleamed black. _

"_Bella, I had a mind to help you relax." He leaned into my neck._

"_Let me help you relax."_

_I felt the warm breath on my neck, and I shivered. His crooked smile let me know that he had felt my reaction; that he enjoyed it. He wrapped one thick arm around the small of my back, and crushed me to his chest. His other hand reached out for something I couldn't see._

_Using the arm he held just above my behind, he turned us and guided me to the bed. It was large and low, and dressed with silky looking sheeting and a mass of large pillows. _

"_Will you lay down for me, my Isabella?"_

_Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he had taken the after-bath oil that Bahti had left near the tub._

_Sweet jesus._

_But there was nothing sweet about this. _

_Sami had helped position my naked body the just the way he wanted, so that I was lying face up, sprawled across the soft sheeting of his bed. Pouring a large amount of oil directly onto my skin, he instantly began rubbing large circles over my breasts and stomach, eventually focusing attention on my erect buds. _

_He began to move his hands in long downward strokes, and they glided smoothly over my hips and thighs, and down my legs. The blood flow to my lower help increased, and I began to throb between my legs. _

_Sami helped nothing when he stepped back and removed his shirt in a quick, graceful motion. I gaped at him with longing, and smiled as he leaned his upper body over my oily form._

"_Were you peeking at me, miss?"_

_I giggled at the absurdity of it all, but then answered his question in a husky tone._

"_I could never look away."_

_He growled, and moved away from me for just a moment. I heard the belt buckle of Sami's pants hit the floor, and I knew that there was nothing between us now. _

_It had made me a little giddy; completely ecstatic and a little nervous. When he leaned back up over my body, and let some of his weight fall on me, and the pressure of his weight contrasted with the feel of his smooth skin. _

_He was so big and solid, and yet his skin was like silk under my fingertips as I explored the backs of his well-defined arms. One of his hands tangled into my hair. Another glided between our bodies over my oily belly, and down my pubic bone. It slid around my backside, and gripped my ass firmly. _

"_Ahhh, Bella. Tell me what you want."_

"_I want you."_

_He laughed heartily, and it was almost evil. I turned into his neck, prepared to beg, but I felt his hand move to my core. It rested there._

_"You are absolutely sinful," he breathed at me._

_I arched my hips, pressing myself against his hand._

_"Ah, Sami, please," I moaned._

_I screamed his name again when I felt two long fingers stroking my wetness. Sami groaned at the feel of it._

_He attached his pillowy lips to mine and licked my bottom lip so gently. So painfully. His tongue entered my mouth, and I allowed it. We kissed each other deeply, exploring each other thoroughly. The kiss was a fight for dominance._

_I reached down to feel for him, and he was there; long and hard. He hissed at my touch. It was guttural, and almost dangerous. I wanted it so bad; wanted to impress him, to leave me longing for me. _

"_Take me..." I pleaded. He did, and it was not gentle._

When I woke up in the plush hotel bedding, I realized three things. One was that my fantasy was getting out of hand; that I was losing my focus on reality, and that sex consumed even my dreams.

The second, more disturbing realization (which I was beginning to blame on therapy) was that some of my emotions about this past experience with my favorite lover were not entirely pleasant. It had occurred to me that I had not been in control at all; that if I had wanted to stop, I probably would have been SOL. I felt used and dirty.

The third realization was that I was starving.

It was dark in the room, and I couldn't locate a switch. Reaching over to the bedside table, I patted my hand around roughly like a blind man to feel the objects there. I found my cell, and used its light to locate the switch to the table lamp. It was on the wall behind the lamp shade.

Go figure.

Locating a room service menu, I dialed #0.

"The Dylan kitchens, may we help you?" A foreign voice asked formally.

I realized that I hadn't even scanned the menu. I reviewed in quickly, and placed my order almost instantly. I had always been decicive.

"That will be all Ma'am?"

"Yes please, sir."

I sat motionless on the edge of my bed, staring blankly out the large windows of the Dylan. The view was probably spectacular, but I felt nothing.

_Inordinate amount of time spent in obtaining sex, being sexual, or recovering from sexual experience._

_Recovering from sexual experience._

_Put it out of your mind._

I flipped my blackberry back and forth in my hands, wanting badly to call Jake. Now was not the time. I decided to text him instead. That would be okay.

MISS U WOLFIE.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock on my door announced the arrival of a tray carrying one large piece of black forest cake, an iced oatmeal raisin cookie, a bottle of water, and a manhattan, straight up. Shifting the plates around the tray, I saw that whomever had put the meal together had seen fit to put a few packets of crackers on the tray, under the edge of my plate. Evidently they disapproved of my diet.

Gentle buzzing announced the arrival of a new message.

THINKING ABOUT YOU. XO JAKE.

I couldn't wait to tell him about vacation. I couldn't wait to plan it for that matter.

I knew just the thing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Wolfie and Bella at Starbucks**

Boston was busy. The city was beautiful and rich with history and culture. It was full of intellectuals; students, teachers, doctors. In New York there were seemingly endless troves of financial experts, stockbrokers and bankers. In Boston, the people seemed more interesting and purposeful. I liked it.

Logan International airport was always moving and shifting. I had never minded having it as a home base as I worked, but today's trip to the airport wasn't work related.

I was picking up my Jacob, who was coming to live with me.

"_Miss, this is an incredibly valuable piece", the woman said hesitantly. She kept inspecting it to make certain that she was not incorrect in her initial determination. _

_I had just presented the tiny blonde woman at the Jewlery Outlet with the red and gold box from Sami; the one I hadn't opened in Cairo._

"_Miss…"_

"_Call me Bella, please."_

"_Bella, what you have here is a two-hundred and seventy thousand dollar emerald and diamond ring."_

"_Okay" I said. _

_Clearly, it wasn't the response she had expected._

"_Doesn't this piece of jewelry hold some meaning for you? It must me a gift from someone very special and engagement ring perhaps? It isn't old; Cartier put this design out only last year. This was one of their pricier rings in that collection."_

"_I just want to unload it." I had told her flatly. She arched an eyebrow, and looked me over closely._

"_This is a special piece" she reminded me again, and I saw what she was thinking. What kind of unassuming, plainly dressed girl of my age and appearance would walk into an estate jewelry buyer's shop on a Tuesday with a ring worth a quarter of a million dollars? And who, with the kind of money to hold such an item, would need to or want to sell it? _

"_I have proof of ownership, madam." _

"_Of course."_

_I smiled at her, and the discomfort between us dissipated. No need for me to make a stink._

"_Bella, I don't usually buy jewelry of this….caliber without having some advance notice. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement. I can pay only one hundred and seventy thousand, but if you'll accept then I can write you a check today. You'll have the money now."_

_I accepted the arrangement, and handed her the identification and information she needed to record the transaction and write out the check._

_As I received the large check over the counter, the small woman addressed me again. _

"_I imagine you'll be doing something very special with this money."_

"_Very" I assured her._

When I saw Jacob Black emerge from the tiny walkway that connected the gate with the airplane, I laughed out loud. His massive frame made the doorway and the other passengers look ridiculously, comically small.

I began waving as him exaggeratedly, since I would not be as apparent to him in the crowd as he was amid the rushing mass of passengers coming off of flight 276. When he saw me, he smiled broadly, and my heart skipped. I literally felt a pang in my chest.

Of what?

_Relief? Joy? Lust? _

He looked amazing.

_Bad thoughts Bella. No. You mustn't even think… anything._

"Isss-a-belllla!" he sang to me as he ran up and grabbed my waist. He had dropped his carry on ten feet back.

"I missed you a lot" I told him sincerely, burying my face in his shoulder. And he just held me for who knows how many minutes.

As I withdrew from him, I began to think procedurally. We needed to get his checked luggage, and return to the parking area within the hour in order to avoid being charged the extended parking rate. Even though I was now moderately wealthy, I couldn't see wasting thirty five dollars.

When I asked him which baggage carousel we'd need, he laughed.

"I just brought the carry-on. Don't have that much in the way of clothes bells. I've ruined most of them."

I gaped at him.

One bag? Everything he owned in one bag?

"How, I mean what happened to your pants? What about the jeans I bought you at Christmas? Jake, you had…"

"I ruined most of them phasing. I really tried not to" He said with a smirk.

"Oh. Oh, of course" I said, and my thoughts shifted from confusion to amusement. How could I have forgotten that my very handsome best friend was, in fact, a huge, apparel-destroying werewolf? Pants had clearly been a poor gift choice. I laughed lightly, and he joined me. Jacob grabbed m y free hand as we began walking through the terminal.

When I stopped at the Starbucks kiosk on the way out, Jacob lingered behind on a nearby bench. I noticed that he was rifling through his bag, an annoyed expression on his face.

I ordered a skim-latte and a fudge brownie. I had thought to order an additional snack for Jacob; perhaps three or four bran muffins and a bottle of water. It occurred to me after I paid that if he wasn't phasing anymore, Jake may not be as… hungry as he had once been.

Better safe than sorry; the guy was still huge.

I sat next to Jacob on the wooden bench, and handed him one of the paper bags.

"Bag of muffins," I told him. He chucked warmly.

"What kind?"

"Bran muffins. Three of them."

"Sounds perfect."

"So you aren't... um… less hungry, huh?" Was this a personal question?

"Nope."

"But you don't phase now" I asserted.

"Not usually," He said, averting his eyes.

I turned my entire body toward him and shot him an accusing glare.

"Jacob, you said you weren't phasing!" My tone sounded a little harsh in my own ears, so I softened it a bit.

"You can't just shape-shift here Jake, there's nowhere for you to go…no place to run hidden." He looked like he was about to speak, but I cut him off.

"And there aren't wolves here; I mean not like that. Not big wolves. Maybe coyotes or something. Not that there's wolves like _you_ anywhere, but it Washington people were used to hearing about weird large animals."

He looked at me solemnly for a moment, then smiled.

"Weird large animals?" His face expressed mock-insult.

We both laughed.

"But seriously Jake. You can't go…"

"Bella, I get it. Don't worry. I haven't shifted, often. Or recently. I did two weeks ago, but I was able to control it entirely."

What was he saying? Could he not stop? Maybe he just didn't want to. Phasiing was a part of who he was. It was a connection to his tribe. I felt that it was prudent to ask how he felt about it all, since I was the one that had dragged him to the crowded east coast, and off his res.

"Do you still want to be able to sometimes?" I half-whispered.

He looked at me sweetly.

"Maybe. I don't know. I sort of felt like, I don't want to lose it completely. But I can wait, or control my urge, until I'm somewhere where I can get away with it. Like a wildlife preserve, or something."

We both laughed again. It almost seemed too ridiculous.

"I wonder if you'll be able to hear them from here" I mused.

"Maybe," he said, "I'd like to hear Seth sometimes."

"You have a cell phone" I reminded him.

He laughed, and shoved half of a bran muffin into his mouth easily.

"I can't hear people's thoughts and emotions through a blackberry Bella."

He had a point. Suddenly, I was jealous of the wolf-connection. I wanted to know every thought in Jacob's mind.

I did not want him to hear mine.

The mood in the car was different; lighter, less emotionally charged. It was as though we had never been away from one another. I was glad to see Jacob smiling.

Just as I was about to start the vehicle, Jacob presented me with a small unwrapped gift box.

"Jake…"

"Really, it's nothing Bella. Just a little something I meant to give you last time you were up."

Inside the paper box was a thin silver ring nested on a cotton pad.

"Emily helped me choose it for you. We got it at _La Push Native Gifts_."

The ring was amazing; it was only a thin band, but was inscribed with what could only be Quileute words.

"It's perfect."

The ring was so large that I could only keep it on my thumb, which I rather liked. I considered the irony; I had just hocked a much more expensive ring to take Jacob on vacation, and he replaced it with a ring that I'd value much more.

I couldn't wait to tell him, but for some indescribable reason, I was nervous to ask my very best friend to take this trip with me. On the other hand, I had a feeling he'd be genuinely pleased.

"Jake, I know you just got here…"I fidgeted in the driver's seat, but smiled mischievously.

"Jeez, Bells. What's got you so amped up?" He chuckled.

"I actually got you…well, us a present. Sort of."

He smiled, and his brown eyes glowed with warmth. I felt so safe, and so, so happy.

"I hope you'll want to go" I continued.

"It's a surprise trip? Are we going to Disney or something? You know, I've always sort of wanted to go on the Tower of Terror."

I shuddered. He laughed.

"Ya, not exactly," I grimaced.

_Not at all._

"Well…"

"Well, I haven't been on a real vacation forever. You know how I travel, like, daily" I laughed lightly… "but I never see anything while I'm away. So when I was in the Netherlands a few weeks ago, I was thinking about, maybe a vacation. And I sort of need a travel buddy, so…" I smiled over at him.

"A travel buddy, huh?"

"Yuppers."

"Where to Miss?"

I reached over his enormous lap, and wrestled with the latch on the glove compartment door. Without taking my eyes off the road, I reached inside and felt for the envelope. I pulled out a handful of napkins, which I promptly ditched on Jacob's lap, eliciting laughter. Then I felt a small packet, and I was certain I had the right one. I handed it to Jake.

A moment passed while he read the little packet that the travel agent had left me with. I heard the shuffling of paper as he opened the tri-fold, and removed the printed copy paper that displayed our particular travel plans.

"Holy shit! Wow Bells, I…just wow."

"You coming?"

"Oh my god, I mean…Italy. For that long? I mean, how can we afford this?"

I winced, and hoped it had gone unnoticed.

"I'm a rich old bastard," I declared humorlessly. "I can afford it just fine, and I don't want any complaints from the peanut gallery."

I had planned the trip meticulously, so that we would have too much to do. I wanted Jacob to have the opportunity to hike; sightsee, and eat lots. I wanted to sightsee too, but I also planned to spend a fair amount of time strolling through vineyards and laying in the sun. Which reminded me…

"I don't know if you saw this, but the last six days are a Greek Islands cruise. It's on that other sheet there. You can take a look at the ship."

He turned a piece of paper over, and studied it carefully before eliciting some sort of gleeful squeaking noise. I laughed at him, and he seemed embarrassed.

"Oh Jake, no. I'm sorry." I reached out and grabbed his knee. "It's just that I think you're insanely cute when you're excited." I smiled for him without looking in his direction, and in my peripherals, I could see that he was looking at me with want. In a moment, I realized what I had just said; how I had sounded.

_Maybe excited was an unfortunate choice of term. _

_Insert foot in mouth._

"Sorry. I'm so sorry Jake." I didn't know what else to say, and now I was thinking about this cruise and about my concerns that in said situation, I would not be able to keep away from my "travel buddy."

Still, I could count on Jacob to be cool, and forgiving of my stupidity.

"Bells, thank you so much. This is so great." He grinned at me, as he spoke in the softest and most sincere tone imaginable.

"Just coming here, to you was enough of a gift. It's so great to be able to get away, and to have someplace safe. You are my safe place."

I thought of the irony; that this huge man-wolf felt safe with me, because of my friendship. I looked over at him, and he held nothing but love and sweetness in his big dark eyes. I wanted to love him so bad, in every imaginable way. I just didn't know if I had the capacity for love at all.

"You're my safe place too." And as I said it, I felt a part of my cold heart warm tremendously. I breathed deeply, and smelled ocean air.

"We're almost home, Jake."

"That sounds wonderful."


	12. Chapter 12

**I don't own Twilight, or else I'd be rich. ;)**

**Reviews mean quicker updates. Thanks for those that have. **

**This chapter is a little sexy, so beware. I think (based on some other things I've read) that it's not too explicit, but I'd like to hear what your thoughts are? Is less really more?**

**You'll have to excuse me if I take a week to update…lots to do at work an I have an election soon!**

**JPOV**

**Not in Forks anymore**

This place was kind of neat. I guess I had lived on the reservation for so long, that the city seemed foreign and a little intimidating. At home, Forks was the place to be…the place to shop, to interact with other human beings. I knew that when I was hungry I could go to the Diner, or to Russell's market to buy groceries. I knew where to get a pair of pants; where to park, and the name of the dude I bought parts from at the junkyard.

Boston was a world away. When we left the massive airport, it had taken us ten minutes to walk to a parking lot, which was packed with hybrid cars and late model luxury vehicles that nobody in Forks would think of owning. Bella had paid Fifteen dollars to the unfriendly woman in the gate-booth, and I wondered if the car had been parked there for a month. When I asked her about the cost of parking, she only laughed. Evidently, if she had been there for a month, it would have cost us a lot more than what she had parted with today.

Driving through the city was frightening. The traffic was bad, and Bella's driving had worsened considerably over the years. I guessed the city had taken its toll on her safety consciousness. The overpasses which I assumed had some sort of speed limit were treated like racetracks. It was a very cool looking city, though; having the aura of intensity and busyness that most cities do.

I had never been to Bella's house; she told me I'd have my own room.

_Too bad_.

I had every intention of being respectful of my Bells' personal space, and of not coming on to her at all. It was really the best thing, truth be told. Then she goes and spends god knows how much money on a romantic vacation around the freakin' world. A Greek Islands cruise? Jesus. Do you know how small those cabins are? What happens when you're aboard and there's nothing to do?

Yup, we'd definitely be getting it on.

We arrived at the house just after 9 p.m. Jillian had cooked something amazing, which evidently was a surprise even to Bella. As always, I ate an excessive amount of food, which shocked the chef . Bella, of course, was unsurprised and simply told her friend I was extremely "athletic," and needed to consume a lot of calories. Jill giggled.

I heard them giggling some more after dinner, as they flitted around in the kitchen. I was in the adjacent living space, pretending to watch television; and since poor Jill didn't know about my werewolf senses, she felt free to disclose her every thought to Bells.

"God, he is incredible" She whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen a man that… buff."

Bella laughed a little.

"I mean, you can see his muscles right through his t-shirt. Those hanes-his-way usually don't look sexy on a man, but…oh my god!"

I chuckled quietly, not wanting to alert the girls to my eavesdropping.

Bella, presumably aware that I could hear the private dialogue, cleared her throat and responded in an effort to end the conversation.

"Yes, he's very big, and quite beautiful. Unfortunately, he knows that." She glared in my direction.

_Say whaaaat? I am so not vain._

I looked over toward the kitchen and saw the pair leaned in toward one another. Bella was hunched over the sink, uncorking a bottle of red wine; her friend was still staring in my direction. I saw my girl look up at her roommate for a moment with a glare, and she cleared her throat again as if to claim me. The two made eye contact. Bella was not smiling.

_Jealous Much?_

"I think I'll go out and get some of that evening sea air. See you both in the morning?" The question was directed at Bella and I, but Jill didn't look directly at me now.

"I'll do breakfast," Bella assured her, smiling nervously. It was an effort to keep things cool.

Jill turned her head and walked out onto the deck with a magazine and a martini glass filled with something green. She seemed uncomfortable, and I felt a little sorry that she felt unwelcome in her own house, especially after the nice dinner she'd prepared. I liked her a lot, actually. She seemed pretty sweet, and wasn't in any way unattractive. She was curvy and tall, with stick straight red hair and those all-over freckles that are kind of wild-sexy. I decided to play with Bells a little. Play up the jealousy a bit to see if I could elicit a reaction.

_Mean Jake._

I waited until she had joined me on the sofa. She carried a glass of wine for herself, and a beer for me. Presumably.

"What do you think of the house?"

"It's really nice, Bells." I could tell that she was proud of her home, and it was definitely a cute, well decorated home. Chic, even.

_Chic? _

_Great, I live in one of those coffee table magazine houses._

I laughed at the thought.

"What's so funny Jake?" Bella glared at me, but it was a teasing glower.

"No, no… I really like it. It's just that I was thinking how different it is from Billy's. You know?"

"Yah."

We were both utterly silent for a full minute.

"Bella?"

"Jake?"

"Why can't I stay in your room?"

Another moment of silence. This one was shorter, but more loaded. I watched Bella fiddle with her wine glass, rolling it in her palms. She settled into the sofa cushions, as if to prepare herself for what she was about to say, and looked up at me with purpose.

"You know it's not a great idea. I mean, it's not that I don't…love you. I do, and you know how comfortable I am being close to you. Physically I mean." She paused. "I mean, I have always been comfortable sleeping next to you. Having the physical proximity. But if we slept together here, and with you living here…"

I looked at her nervous, longing face, and I had two thoughts. One was that I wanted to grab her and kiss her like crazy. The other was that she had no idea what I was saying, so I corrected her mid-rant.

"Bells…honey, stop. That's not what I meant. I just thought maybe we could put my bed in your room. So we can be near each other. That's all."

_Bullshit, Black. You know where this will take you._

I looked at her straight on, and I could see in her eyes that she was considering, and it looked like she was thinking _hard._

"No pressure, sweets. I don't mind sleeping away from you. I just prefer the company." I smiled, and she laughed.

"You can move the bed." It was a simple statement that made my heart jump.

"Great. Will do. Now tell me all about your travels, so I have something to dream about before bed."

I sat enraptured while she told me about the countries she'd been to, and the things she had seen from the taxi window. She told me about the fancy hotels she stayed at; her hatred of Indian and middle eastern foods, the constant search for and purchase of candy and booze for sustenance.

We talked about Italy, about how happy she'd be to meet the people. The thing she had bemoaned above all was how she had never had the time to talk to anyone on her trips abroad; to develop friendships, or find pen pals. I could see that. I wanted to be with her when she finally got to do those things she had dreamed of for so long.

I lay in bed, daydreaming about Italy with my Bella; hoping that my meditation on that soon-to-be experience would cause me to dream about it while I slept. That way, it would seem real. As my girl slept in her king sized bed on the loft above me, I dreamed of the last time she'd come to visit me in forks.

_She had come after 10; meaning that she had waited for her escape until Charlie had gone to bed. I thought it was strange how she still cared so much what he thought about our sleepovers, but in a way it was cute. _

_It had clearly been raining, because when she walked into my room I could see that her hair was completey wet and matted to her face. It didn't draw from her beauty at all._

"_I'm a disaster" she said, removing her coat. _

_But she was the furthest thing from a disaster. _

_Her dark hair hung wet over her pale shoulders. The rain had exaggerated the lightness of her skin, and enhanced the color of her full lips. She reminded me of those pictures in the girlie magazines that they take of the models under the shower, in lingerie. Stunning and primal. It was perfect, and she was mine. _

_I focused on her, spoke to her gently as she removed her wet camisole, and peeled the jeans off of her long legs. I loved how unpretentious she could be with me; how simple it was. She was here to let me love her, and we both knew it. _

_Before long, she was standing before me in her dampened underwear and staring at me intently as she pushed a section of wet hair away from her perfect face. She shivered. It hadn't occurred to me until just then that I had frozen, watching her… that I was still dressed, although for me that meant pants and socks only._

_I saw her shudder, and I wanted to warm her, everywhere._

"_Bells, 108 degrees over here."_

_She smiled at me, and slid into my narrow bed. As soon as I felt her cold, soft skin against my body, I rolled into her and kissed her. The kiss was sweet, but intense. She seemed frantic; I could hear her heart flying. _

_Her tiny hands tugged at my pants, and I reached down to help her get them off. I could tell that she liked the way I felt against her, because she stretched herself out as long as she'd go, and pressed her whole self against me. _

_I considered the bedside table lamp, which had thus far remained on; but when I stretched my hand in its direction to darken the room, my girl slapped my hand away playfully._

"_I want to look at you," she said, looking into my eyes. _

_Hers glowed._

"_I want to see you." _

_She leaned in to kiss me again, and it was hard and desperate. This wasn't little girl Bella at all. This Bella, the one I had been with so many times over the years was neither shy, nor indirect. She was demanding, and wild, and fucking sexy as hell._

_She was driving me crazy, and I loved it. I reached my hand around her to caress her lower back, and when my warm hand came into contact with her bottom, she moaned. And as I looked back into her eyes, I smelled her. _

_After that, my mind was all over the place._

_I remember how soft she was, how good she felt around me. How eager she was, and how hard she tried to keep quiet. I can't recall if anything was said, or all the things we did, but I know that I felt completely overwhelmed with love for my girl._

_The next thing I really remember was waking up in my sun-soaked room alone. There was no note, but when I picked my phone up off the bedside table, I found that I had been texted twice._

_LOVE YOU JACOB. XO_

_She's killing me._

_SEE YOU TONIGHT, PROBABLY AFTER CHARLIE'S SLEEPING. XO_

_That was the last night that I'd have her before she had to go back to Boston. One more night._

_I'd take it._

When I woke up in Bella's room, on Bella's guest bed, I had a raging hard-on.

I smelled breakfast, but all I wanted was my girl.

Fuck.


	13. Chapter 13

**a/n…I know this is short. I had to set up for the next chapter.**

**I don't own twilight, I just love the hell out of it.**

**Back on the couch**

Two days before we were slated to leave for our vacation, I was in a state of panic. I had decided to call an emergency session with Dr. Randall, who wasn't pleased to hear that I was spending so much time with Jacob. The conversation had been painful.

"Bella, you mentioned that you have company?"

"I do. Jacob is living with me."

"Is this a temporary arrangement?"

I wanted to lie to my therapist, but that isn't why we were here. I decided on honesty, figuring it was a step in the right direction.

"No, I had asked him to come stay for a while. He was depressed at home."

"Bella, that's very thoughtful; but it's not prudent."

I considered. Her comment was just that, a comment. But it begged for response.

"I don't have to sleep with him. I haven't."

"Do you feel the urge to have sex with him?"

She obviously hadn't met Jacob.

Reaching into my handbag, I withdrew a small leather wallet. Inside the wallet, under my license, I kept a picture of Jacob and I hugging. Emily had taken it after one of the campfires at LaPush.

Even though the photograph was four years old, Jake looked the same. My hair was different. That was the only thing that dated the snapshot.

I handed the dog-eared picture to Dr. Randall, and watched her as she surveyed the picture.

"He's very handsome." She said it objectively, as she had been trained to do. I secretly wondered if he inspired her with the same type of feelings that I had struggled with.

"Of course I feel the urge," I joked.

She laughed, then became serious.

"I know you love this young man, Bella; in a way. It's important to me, since you're my patient, that you get well. And moreover, I want you to eventually develop healthy relationships in your life. I think you have something here, with Jacob."

Her eyes became soft.

"I don't want you to go there too soon. That will ruin your healing process, and it will probably cause you to isolate this person you care so much about If you value your relationship; if you can see yourself with Jacob, you must not be intimate with him. You need to stop having sex altogether for now."

"I guess I knew that" I said, evenly.

"It's critical, Bella. Sex means nothing to you right now. Or rather, it's something you use in a very unhealthy way. You have to separate yourself from that part of your life for now, or you'll never get better. Once you've developed a sense of self outside of your sexual-compulsivity, you might be able to work your way into a healthy relationship, and enjoy intimacy that means something."

The thought was actually frightening, which I supposed was part of my dysfunction. I huffed.

"And you know, you'll have to tell him. If you think you'll want him to be your partner." She eyed me, looking for a physical response.

"How could I _tell_ him?" I asked her forcefully, pulling myself to the edge of the couch.

"You need not tell him everything, Bella. But you will need to come clean, to a degree. He'll need to know that sex has been an issue for you."

I was quiet and fidgety for a few moments, as I considered everything she was saying. I wasn't certain whether I was more afraid of the idea of telling Jacob that I was a slut, or sleeping with him in a meaningful context. I wasn't sure I was capable of either. And worst of all, I was conflicted over the direction of the foregoing conversation; about Doctor Randall's assumption that when I was ready to get past my compulsive behavior, Jacob and I would ultimately be together.

I had to address this.

"Doc, I'm not certain about me and Jacob as an item. It's not…"

"Bella, I'm not trying to make assumptions. Of course, you could meet someone else. It just seemed like it might be the natural course of thing; that you'd fall for Jacob when the time is right. You seem very comfortable with this man, and you'll need to get involved with someone very forgiving, if you are going to be straight about this addiction."

"Right, right."

"Anyway, you'd never mentioned anyone else."

That part set me off, and I suddenly realized what I had been withholding. The protective part of my heart, the part that kept me from thinking of Edward during waking hours, begged me not to speak of him. But Dr. Randall's good little patient knew it was relevant. I had to tell her about him. Well, what I could.

How to introduce it, without sounding like a lunatic?

"There was someone, once."

"Oh? Tell me, if you think you can."

I breathed deeply, and started to well up with tears before I had even uttered a word. I noticed right away that my voice had become quieter and meeker when I talked about him; as if mentioning him aloud might have made the pain in my chest worse.

I told her about his love. How all consuming it had been. How his love had been everything; his family my family, his life my life. I told her how perfect he was, how gentlemanly. How divinely handsome. I had planned to spend forever with him, because he had made me feel perfect and beautiful and special. I told her about his obsession with my safety and my virtue.

I told her about his leaving me; the things he said. I told her about the rejection, the humiliation, and the incredible pain. That was when the story of Edward ended, and the story of Jacob began.

That was when I stopped.

"Bella, we haven't got much time left, but I want you to know it was very brave of you to discuss something that you find so painful. I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"You must think its stupid. I know I was young, and I know it's been a long time…but I was so in love with him. I was so certain that he was made for me."

"No, Isabella. Your emotions are not stupid. He hurt you."

"Yes" I breathed out. My eyes were burning now. I was angry.

"You weren't intimate with him, because he wouldn't let you be. And then he rejected you. You were hurt."

I nodded.

"Was that the only emotionally intimate relationship you ever had?

"I think so."

She jotted something down, and nodded once, as if to confirm something.

Looking directly at me, she spoke.

"This is why, Bella."

And suddenly I knew…that when Edward had left me, it had destroyed me. It had affirmed that all of those times he had rejected my body, he had done so because I wasn't enough.

I had never bared myself emotionally again. But I had been_wanted_, and I had been taken. I had wanted to feel powerful; strong. Yet every time I gave myself away it was worse.

This was my moment for change, and in some freak way, I saw Jacob as the prize, the light at the end of my tunnel_._

I slumped out of the Doctor's office with a heightened awareness of my responsibility toward Mr. Black. I had to keep him safe, which meant avoiding his abs, his ass and anything else I found sexy until I was 'repaired'. That would be hard, but do-able.

It would probably help if I found some time to be honest with him about the past several years. Either it would help, or he'd never speak with me again. That thought was unbearable.

Just then, I got a very sweet text from one very sweet wolf.

**DINNER IS READY… XO**

It would probably not be tasty, but I looked forward to it just the same.


End file.
